


second chances

by nishiki



Series: second chances [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AltMal (mentioned), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby Wolf Liam, Bullying, Charles Lee is a dick, Connor TRIES to be a bad boy, Connor is a bad boy, Connor still behaves like a headless chicken, Desmond's plans are weird as fuck, Dr. da Vinci saves the day, Family Fluff, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Haytahm's internal monologue, Haytham's A+ Parenting, Jealous Connor, Major D-Bag Charles Lee, Parent Haytham, Racism, Runaway teenager, Teenage Connor, haytham / ziio relationship (mentioned), kind of, plush wolf, teacher-student bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 119,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiki/pseuds/nishiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After coming to the US sixteen years ago and meeting a beautiful young native woman Haytham now lives alone, regretting the chances he missed. He always dreamt of a family of his own, but never got the chance after the only woman he could have imagined a family with left him, never to be seen again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Haytham Kenway opened the front door of his humble house on the outskirts of Boston, he expected to see his old friend, Charles, coming by for a spontaneous visit to have tea with his fellow Brit in this outlandish world they found themselves in over ten years ago. Their work brought them and a few selected other Brits (and friends) to the US and since then at least a few of them liked to gather together in this secluded enclave of the former colonies that was Haytham's home. He never expected to move to Boston for more than a temporary time span and expected to go back to mother Britain, as soon as his work would allow him to, but now it were almost sixteen years he was in this land, with exception for the occasional visit to his old father or his older half-sister in London, his birthplace.

Of course, they liked to pressure him a lot to come back _home_ , but truth was, Haytham liked it here. No, not _here_ in particularly, only _here_ meant being far away from his quirky father and his bossy sister. He was in his early forties by now and his sister – well - she was almost fifty years old, still unmarried and without kids (one might argue that was because of her ridiculous expectations and desires when it came to the opposite sex). However being an adult (and Haytham would, in fact, call himself that) did not mean that his sister or his father would treat him like one.

In the eyes of his father he would always be the little boy with the sticky fingers ruining his mother's new kitchen, crying with red cheeks under his bed because she slapped him (well deserved he would say now) and as for his sister he would always be the annoying brat his father came to love more dearly only for being a boy. Of course, the latter was absolute nonsense. However, Jenny ( _Jennifer_ ) never let the fact go that their father missed most of Jenny's childhood because he had been busy traveling the seven seas and making a fortune out of fishing all over the globe. Haytham, on the other hand, would never deny that their father had been neglectful when it came to Jenny and her childhood. He had decided to follow his dreams and leave for no more than two years - that was at least what he promised his now dead wife Caroline back then. However, and that was something Haytham too would never deny but Jenny did, his father had not known about his sister then. If he would have, he would not have left.

Now the name Kenway stood for the best fish seller in Great Britain and the US. That was also, why Haytham came to the US all those years ago. He could have gone back home by now. Charles would be very capable of taking care of the business without Haytham being around, but he rather enjoyed his last years in quietude and peace, only hearing from Jenny now and again what their insane father was doing to drive her mad.

Maybe Haytham even expected it to be his father disturbing his peace here in his cozy paradise on this autumn afternoon. The sun was hanging low from the clear blue sky without even the hint of a raindrop or an angry wind. Not long and winter would come and transform this area of Boston into the Tunguska itself. Haytham always enjoyed those late autumn days with the leaves falling from the trees like the paint would flow from the brush of an artist, beautiful with their different shades of fire.

Now, when he opened the door, he was met with two big brown eyes staring up at him, a hint of fear deeply engraved in them. It took him a moment to register the rest of the boy in front of him, and a boy he clearly was, though his baby face might give a different expression at first. The boy had quite long almost black hair, hanging loosely around his face, looking silken and soft. For a moment, he was reminded of Ziio. She too had those big brown eyes, but there had been wisdom and bravery in them, not fear and nervousness. She too had those little freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. She too had this straight and cheeky nose (if a nose could be cheeky). The boy was a Native American, oh, Haytham could see that immediately. He recognized the style of his clothing, though it was no traditional clothes, they surely had the style of natives with their braids and laces. His skin color, though a lot paler than he remembered of Ziio, only was another hint of his heritage.

The boy was not older than fifteen, maybe sixteen, it was hard to really estimate and Haytham found himself briefly wondering if Ziio maybe had a little brother or a little nephew - or even a child by now. Though it was an enigma to him why a native boy would find his way to him anyway. The child was clutching a piece of paper in his slender fingers. Slender, not like Ziio's. Ziio did have long, thin fingers like the legs of a spider, but the boy's fingers were different.

"A-Are you…" the boy began, a faint stutter in his voice, forbidding him to move on from that point. Haytham raised one eyebrow at the nervous flinching of the boy, but then he could see how the child scooped up all the remaining courage in his little frail body before he spoke up again. "A-Are you M-Mr. Kenway? M-Mr. Haytham K-K-Kenway?"

It was almost cute how he was stumbling over his name. "Yes." he found himself smirking and noticed how the boy's cheeks were soon conquered by a dark red, even his ears were. "I am indeed. So, how can I help you…?"

For a moment the boy seemed thrown back by the hidden question in Haytham's words, but then, after studying his feet for a while as if to make sure that they were still there, he looked back up to him again. "I'm Ratonhnhaké:ton." the boy explained as if that would be enough to really explain anything. Haytham did not even try to wrap his head around this ridiculous name. Never in his life would he be able to pronounce that. And why should he? The boy was but a lost pup in the midst of- "I-I am… iamyourson." the last part came out almost like one word, so fast the boy explained himself, just wanting to get it over with.

In retrospect, Haytham should have seen it coming. In retrospect, Haytham should have recognized the boy the moment he laid eyes on him the first time (which was only an hour ago). Yet he did not. Haytham Kenway always perceived himself to be a quite attentive, thoughtful and clever man. He always captivated other people with his over active comprehension and his quick mind and wits, yet he did not recognize this boy right away. Still, he did not.

He was not so very proud to admit that he closed the door in front of this boy's face, right after those words left his mouth. _I am your son_ , he had said (only way quicker) and up until now, the reality of those words did not manage to seep through. It was not even remotely possible that this child was _his…_ his … his?

Ziio and he broke up sixteen years ago! She left him after one stupid argument! It simply was not possible! Maybe once Haytham had wished for a family, maybe once he had dreamt of having a whole pack of beautiful dark skinned children running around his house with Ziio shouting at them not to make a mess out of their father's study, but this was a long time ago and the thought of having a family of his own never occurred to him since. Of course, he had a few dates every now and again, but most of those women were only looking for his money and none of them woke the wish for a family like Ziio once had.

Still, it was not possible.

It was not possible. Even when Haytham found himself looking out the window of his study and caught himself watching the boy rummaging his lawn like some creep, he was positive that it simply was not possible. Not at all. A small part of him felt a bit of pity like the sting of a mosquito for the boy. What if he really thought Haytham was his father? It must be devastating to find out that his mother lied to him about his father. But how would Haytham know anyway? He had the luxury of growing up knowing who his father was and he also did have the luxury growing up _with_ his father, unlike his older sister. Ziio on the other hand seemingly lied to the poor boy, or did she not? He had no clue how in the world the boy came to the conclusion of him being his father or why Ziio would have lied to him anyway. And maybe he better did not want to know anyway.

"Go away, boy or I call the cops!" Haytham yelled after he opened his window and found the boy examining his rosebushes. He was not too very fond of strangers walking about his property. The boy visibly flinched and took off running on long, but wobbly legs. He was still a bit lanky, as it seemed. A puppy dog not yet grown into its paws. Haytham lingered at his window for just a moment longer, overlooking his lawn and breathing in the fresh air of this late October afternoon. November would soon hit Boston with a front of cold air and storms, as it did every year. Did he just imagine things now or was the breeze suddenly a bit colder than before? Maybe it was the wind gods punishing him for yelling at some confused child like this.

The boy did not come back this day and Haytham found himself glancing out of his windows way too often for his liking. Was he expecting to see the boy lurking around on his property again?

"Well, maybe the boy is some insane criminal!" Charles's accent was heavy as ever when his voice sounded out of his phone. Haytham did not even know why in the heavens he called Charles lee. Of course, Charles was his friend, his right-hand man in the company one might say, but he was not as sentimental as to call him in an hour of need or worry. However, was this an hour of need and worry?

"I don’t think so, Charles." He sighed. "He looks like … Well; I think the kids nowadays would say he looks like a cinnamon roll."

There was silence on the other side of the line. "I'm sorry sir, but I do not believe I know what that even means."

"Me neither, Charles, me neither. What I am trying to say, though, he does not look harmful. He looks more confused and lost." Not to mention that he even felt stupid for saying something like this.

"But, didn’t you say before that the boy came to your house every day this week?" Charles probed further.

"I did."

"And didn’t you say that he just walked around your property and ran away every time you saw him?" Clearly, his friend was now questioning his current mindset.

"Exactly." It was the truth. The first day, after he first met Raton … Rattahunkaton? Ratohakeyton? Rattata… The first day, after he met _the boy_ , he woke up in his bed and almost forgot about the incident of the previous day. Of course, it was not all that easy forgetting that some teenage boy came to one's house stating he was one's son, but in Haytham's life, there had been weirder things already. It would not be the first time he would have been confronted by some kid or some desperate woman with a newborn child claiming him to be the father. Haytham would not say he was a gorgeous man, but he was handsome and sophisticated, British and rich. For most women, that was more than enough reason to claim to have his child, even though he never met those women. Really, those things were nothing new, simply because lots of women seemed to think a rich British bachelor like him had nothing better to do than to sleep around the city with various women. Well, they could have been right if he was his own father, though.

To Haytham it was quite the surprise that they never met one of his father's bastards if he did have some indeed (which was probably true).

"So why should the boy come back to your house and roam around your property every day now if he does not have something sinister in mind? You know how those natives are, they are still very much mad about the Americans stealing their land."

"Don’t you mean the British?" Haytham sighed, just when he heard the first rumble of thunder high above his head. Up until now, the skies were clear blue, like the days before. It seemed now the weather would grow worse and worse with every passing day. Not that he would care much for these things anyway. The last days of this dying October went by in a blur. He had been at his office in the city most of the times, working away all those boring documents, he needed to sign and shove away. He would not say that he hated his job at the company, or that he hated the thought of someday taking over from his father, but it was not what he once had aspired to be. But every day when he had come home there was the boy lingering around somewhere, shying away whenever he noticed Haytham's eyes on him and by now Haytham was more than a tiny bit annoyed.

There was a knock on the door and Haytham sighed once again. This was lately becoming a habit of his and lately clearly meant since he met the boy. A part of him did not even care what the boy really wanted from him. He did have more than enough money to give the boy and be done with it, but it was against his principles to just shove some money at him for nothing. "He's here again." Haytham stated. No one he knew would knock on his front door. No one, but this boy and by now Haytham knew the way he would knock by heart. "I swear to god, I will grab my shotgun and scare him away if this ridiculous child will keep up with this nonsense!"

The knocking continued, but Haytham ignored him, just as he did the previous days. He was growing tired of this. "Well, what does he want?" Charles enquired and serious concern was evident in his voice. Charles was the most loyal comrade he knew since he was in the US and Haytham appreciated his honest concern.

"I don’t know." Haytham confessed glancing through his living room window. He could see the boy standing on his front porch, still keeping up with his knocking. Normally the boy gave up after a few times and shied away again but today he seemed adamant to keep it up like this. "I'll call you back later, Charles. This is getting ridiculous."

He did not even wait for Charles reacting to his words when he hung up the phone and strode towards the front door. Just in the midst of the boy's knocking tantrum he ripped the door open and almost got the small fist to his nose. The boy almost jumped out of his skin in surprise and the redness came back violently to his face.

" _Please_ , Mr. Kenway, just hear me out and-"

"Go.away.boy. I don’t want you here. If you keep it up like this I will have no other choice than to fucking shoot your bloody ass." Haytham growled.

He wanted to slam the door shut again right in the face of this stupid boy, but the look on his face was almost heartbroken after the violent words he just spat at him. Maybe this boy really thought him to be his father and if that was true at least, he was behaving like the biggest asshole in the universe. He really felt sorry for the kid in front of him; after all, he was no heartless bastard, right? Then again what would it help this teenager if Haytham was to hear him out? He would only continue to live in this illusion of his and only because his mother lied to him.

No, Haytham decided, this needed to stop. It would do nothing but harm the both of them if he was to hear the boy's story. "Go away, boy. Go back to your mother, after she obviously lied to you. I am not your father and I will not shelter you or give you my hard earned money."

Suddenly there was fury in the teenager's eyes, but Haytham closed the door before he could answer him. The only thing Haytham heard afterward was the boy yelling trough the sturdy door. "I don't want your bloody money anyway! And I won't go away! I never will!"

He was a stubborn one, at least that much Haytham could grant this kid. He had quite the determination. One could only envy that. Well, at least that would be a trait of the Kenway family for sure. They all were bullheaded individuals.

Still, Haytham turned and walked away from the door and this unwanted visitor of his. The boy at least stopped banging on the door - for now. A little bit he was even amazed by the determination this teenager showed, after all, this was quite a rare thing to find nowadays. His father would like this puppy wolf.

His father, on the other hand, would have already invited him in and would have perhaps have been killed by that oh so very harmless puppy wolf.

Yes, he could already see his dear father being stabbed to death by a twelve-year-old brat.

It was later that very same day that Haytham looked up from his work when the wind was starting to push against the windows on the south side of his humble cottage. Briefly, he found himself wondering about the boy outside and if he still was hanging around somewhere on his property. Neither Haytham saw him leave, nor did he saw him around again. No signs of life from the child. Of course, it was a good sign that the brat stopped running around on his property any longer, but since Haytham did not really know anything about him, he might be a tiny bit concerned that the teenager was out there still.

Ridiculous.

He was behaving like a total fool for a child pretending to be his son. Sure thing he could not argue with the fact that this boy was sporting great resemblances with his ex-girlfriend Ziio, but what did that really mean?

The sun was slowly sinking down on the horizon like a drunken girl in Blackpool, slumping down the door of a bathroom stall. It was time to make something to eat for sure and while Haytham strolled down into his kitchen, he found himself thinking about Ziio once again. It was not as if he pushed her from his memories after their breakup, no, not at all in fact, but he tried not to dwell on those tender and sweet memories too much - or their breakup. He liked to remember this time with Ziio like those cliché movies always did. It had been one faithful summer romance, a few beautiful months of passionate kisses and passionate fights, of loud laughter echoing through the woods and soft chuckles under a starry sky. He remembered how much he enjoyed just watching her sleep and how she would clutch her pillow and nuzzle her nose into the soft fabric. She had looked magnificently beautiful back then and Haytham liked to remember her exactly like that. Maybe it was dumb to ignore the truth about their time together or how ugly it all ended. Maybe it was naïve to dwell only on the good times and to forget the bad ones. They argued a lot more often than he liked to remember, about almost everything.

Her family, her tribe, did not accept him as her boyfriend and Haytham had never understood their culture. Oh, Ziio's brother had hated his guts so much! He had been livid when his sister came home with a white man - with a Brit of all things!

The shrill whistling of the teapot remembered him on his task ahead and Haytham really found himself flinching. Hell, he had been so lost in his thought about Ziio that he zoned out like this! Suddenly he became very well aware of the raging thunderstorm outside and was quite happy to be here in his cozy fortress. When he poured himself his cup of tea, he remembered Ziio's laughter about those _stupid British traditions_ of his. Oh, how he missed that laughter. He could not help but simply sigh a little. It had been by the start of October when he and Ziio's broke up and since then he had a hard time enjoying the autumn months as he used to.

He was about to sit down with his tea and the book he found himself enjoying lately when something inside of him demanded to look out the window once again. He always liked storms and thunderstorms and enjoyed watching nature raging about the cruelties of humankind. Therefore, after he lit a fire in the fireplace of his living room, he stepped to the window, which led to the street. For a moment, he just watched how the trees were shaken by the storm and enjoyed the howling of the wind through the little cracks in the walls and window frames. Then his gaze shifted to have a small glance at his front porch and there: in the dim light of his own house he could spot the small figure sitting slumped down on his porch.

"Oh, for god's sake!"

This boy was unbelievable! Within only a few seconds, he had abandoned his tea, reached the front door of his house and ripped it open. "are you mental?" he yelled at the boy still sitting there, his knees pulled tightly against his slender frame and his arms wound tightly around them in a pity attempt of warming himself. He was obviously hit by the storm quite heavily, judging by his quite disheveled form and the wetness of his, well, entire being. It was an enigma to Haytham how someone like this boy (a native) could let himself get surprised by a storm!

Again, those big brown eyes met his and for a moment, Haytham was not even sure if the wetness to his eyes and his face was due to the rain. He bit back a violent threat; instead, he crossed the last distance between them and grabbed the boy by one thin biceps to pull him to his feet. "Come on in you bloody moron!"

There was an awkward silence hanging over his cottage (though Americans would never call it that), while the darkness already engulfed the world around his little haven of warmth. A comfortable fire was burning in his old fireplace and a few lamps were signalizing hypothetical burglars that someone was at home. It was quite funny how fast the weather could change, despite the sky being clear blue earlier this day and now the rain was splashing against his windows in a heavy drum solo.

The boy was sitting on his sofa in the most awkward position ever. To Haytham it was quite clear that the boy would much rather sit on the carpet in front of the fire and it was not necessary to say that he was wearing way too thin clothes for this time of the year. "So, boy, what do you really want from me? You see: you are not the first kid coming to my place in search for money, but you sure are the most stubborn."

"Maybe you should stop sleeping around then." cheeky little bastard!

"Maybe your mother should spank you to teach you to show some respect to adults."

"My mother is dead." the boy stated and his gaze shifted to the fire again. Suddenly there was this small _pang_ deep inside Haytham's chest. It was ridiculous, really, after all, he did not even really know if this boy's mother really was Ziio, right?

"I am sorry." Haytham sighed and he was honest. Yes, he really was sorry. "I know what it means to lose a mother. My mother died around sixteen years ago. But how in the world do you even came to the conclusion of me being your father?"

There was a slight shift to the boy's expression when he turned his face to Haytham again and in the shine of the fire, he looked familiar all of the sudden. Was he now seeing things? Was he now imagining that this boy looked a little bit like his father? Then, the native boy fidgeted and searched in his little backpack standing between his feet on the ground, before he pulled something out and presented it to Haytham.

It was a photo. A photo of him and Ziio sixteen years ago. Haytham even remembered the day they took that stupid picture. Ziio told him that her tribe once believed that cameras would steal one's soul and Haytham dared her to go on and try. It had been a beautiful august day, with the sun shining brightly from the skies, but right after they had taken this photo the heavens turned on them and opened their floodgates to poor rain down on them. Ziio had laughed her ass off, while Haytham only cursed when they took shelter in a nearby barn. Well, she definitely got him to forget about the weather and his wet clothes afterward, but those were thoughts inappropriate to have while around her son.

It took him a moment longer to realize the boy's previous statement. _My mother is dead_ , he had said, had he not? It was not possible that his mother really was Ziio, was it? It was not possible that Ziio - _his Ziio -_ was dead, was it? Maybe Ziio was the only woman he could have imagined to marry at some point. Maybe he was getting old.

"Your mother is Ziio?" he had no clue what to say, really. All of this, the photo, the knowledge of Ziio's death, this boy sitting in front of him, telling him he was his and Ziio's son - all of that, his head, his brain tried to block out. He could not - he was not able to recognize it as truth. Maybe it was the truth! Maybe this boy was _his_ son! Maybe he was the child he once thought about having with Ziio. Beautiful, clever, wise, intelligent, graceful, funny, lovely, perfect Ziio! Maybe - if he was not who he was, if he was another man, a better man, a wiser man - he would not doubt that this was true. Maybe if he would not be Haytham Kenway, but just a normal man, a man who was able to accept that he indeed did have a heart that was good for more than keeping his body alive, maybe then he would explode with joy and grief at the very same instant. However, he was Haytham Kenway and he was not able to accept things as they were given to him.

Once he thought, once he dreamt about having those perfect children with this perfect woman, this perfect family of his in this perfect little paradise he built himself up here. However, those times were long gone and though he still sometimes thought about having children, passing his name on to another generation of Kenways, he … suddenly felt very empty.

Now looking at this boy, seeing how his face was lit by the fire softly crackling in the background, he could see not only a lot of his mother but also a lot of his own father. The way the boy stared into the flames reminded him a lot of the way his father once stared into the flames after the doctor came down to announce that his wife had succumbed to her illness.

"Kaniehtí:io." the boy sighed then. "All that she ever told me about you was that you were never able to pronounce her name right."

Oh, he had his mother's sense of humor, that was obvious.


	2. Chapter 2

_"What's wrong?" Outside their cozy little fortress was the first autumn storm of the year raging and rattling on the windows and doors. He did not even plan on ending up in his bed right now, but of course, things could've been a lot worse. He could still sit on his desk in his office with Charles blabbering about the latest deal they managed to make, for example. Or he could still be stuck in traffic, in his new car on his way to get home finally. Or he could be out there in this storm and with the very potent risk of being struck by lightning. Instead, his girlfriend Ziio was resting next to him, lying on her back one hand flatly on her stomach, the other arm crossed under her head and pillow. Her loose black hair sprawled over the pillow and mattress, for she had been too lazy to braid it today (as she told him when he came home) and Haytham fought back the urge to let it slip through his fingers. He felt almost nervous about resisting the urge to touch her silken hair with his greedy, greedy fingers._

_It was already late and though there was a ton of work papers lying on his desk waiting for him to come back to after he brought those documents with him from the office, he could not force himself to move even an inch. Tomorrow, Wednesday, the everyday drama of day to day life would start up again and he would not be able to see Ziio until next weekend at least. Though she too worked in the big city of Boston, they rarely found the time to meet after work or at least during their lunch breaks. Now, that he had the time to really think about all this, it was quite the miracle they met in the first place. The first few weeks of their relationship had been just as stormy as the weather outside and went by in a blur. A heavenly time Haytham would probably never forget. A period in his life without time and space. At the beginning, their work schedules and very busy days had not bothered them at all. They managed to find time nearly every day. Then again, he thought, it was only normal that things went like this, right? Day to day life managed to catch up with them and now they just needed to work things out, so they might have a future._

_Oh, what a weird thought for a man like Haytham E. Kenway to have._

_"Nothing." She hummed but judging by the way she was staring at the ceiling alone, he could already tell that something was indeed not alright, but he did not have any indicator telling him that it was indeed something that_ he _did wrong. Her eyes were focused on his snow white ceiling so much, that Haytham found himself glancing at the ceiling shortly as if to ensure that it was still there and that she did not just watch the stars above._

 _"Is it because of your tribe?" He sighed and sat up though his whole body screamed and revolted against this tedious act, so he could better watch her, the blankets pooling around his hips, but she only flashed him a small glare for she hated it when he would bring up her tribe every now and again. Only a few times he met someone from her tribe and Haytham knew the looks those people shot him, especially the man Ziio introduced to him as her older brother (a frightening, broad and tall figure). They hated him and they both knew this. No, they did not exactly hate_ him. _They hated that he was a white man. They hated that he was a British man. He was the enemy, no matter how much time had passed since the horrible crimes against the Native Americans had been committed. Those people would never forget - never forgive and maybe they were right about this._

_"No." She then sighed and looked away again, back to the ceiling and then for a short moment to the window to watch the trees being shaken by the storm. Haytham kept his silence, if only for he was contemplating what to say next without provoking her rage (Lately Ziio's temper was even worse than in the beginning of their relationship. One small comment would suffice to provoke her to get into a fit of anger.), but before he could even think of another question that would not cost him his head, Ziio began talking once more, finally looking at him again with her big brown eyes. "Do you want to have children?"_

\--------------------

The storm had hit Boston hard – harder even than Haytham originally expected and harder even than the weathermen on TV or the radio would have expected as it seemed. There were several deaths reported all over the news by the time Haytham switched on the radio this morning. By now he felt like he had been listening to hundreds and hundreds of boring reports from blabbering news broadcasters about flooded basements, damages on cars and houses, destroyed power supply lines or fires caused by lightning. It appeared as if Americans really were stupid enough to still get into their cars and drive a few miles to a friend's house for a little chitchat even when there was a big storm announced with the warning from the meteorologists all over the news to not leave the house, judging by all the reported accidents of the last night.

It really struck him as odd that those people never listened to their god (the media) in times of chaos and possible destruction and only ever listened to them when it concerned beauty and what was trending. For just a second Haytham caught himself glancing into the living room after he finally had enough and switched off the radio to silence the news reporter blabbering some story of a damage that occurred in a local hospital. The boy was clutching the pillow in his sleep after he apparently moved from the couch to the carpet at some point during the last night.

He was still lying there presumably asleep and for the first time, Haytham was wondering how long the boy had been running around the outskirts of Boston like this without getting home at least once. All this nonsense started almost one week ago and Haytham knew that Ziio's people were living not quite around the corner. He liked that about her culture. Of course, they were not living in tipis anymore, but they built their small colony in the woods outside Boston. Most of them were working in the big city, just as Ziio did, but he could not bring himself to believe that this boy had been traveling back and forth for the cause of almost one entire week. So where the hell had he slept?

He should get rid of him as fast as he could.

Later he found himself peeking over the edge of his newspapers, watching the boy munching on his pancakes. Haytham came to like this very American breakfast, though he never made it for himself, simply because he only rarely ever ate his breakfast in his house but mostly in his office. From time to time, his body would crave for a good British breakfast with beans on toast or scrambled eggs and sausages and those days were the only days he would find himself cooking breakfast at all. This morning, however his housekeeper was roaming about his kitchen, preparing this breakfast for the puppy Haytham, managed to get himself, humming a soft tune a tender smile tugging on her plump lips every time she looked at said puppy.

"So where do you even live?" Haytham finally found himself asking without putting the papers down while he listened to his housekeeper humming somewhere inside his house and the radio broadcaster blabbering about some football game ( _New England Patriots_ vs. _New York Giants_ ), after he switched it on again to escape from the uncomfortable silence between him and the boy that claimed to be his son. Finally, the boy stopped chewing. A little bit he looked like a big four-legged ruminant when he was chewing.

"What do you mean?" The boy asked and still, Haytham was not able to wrap his mind around the correct pronunciation of the boy's name. It did not matter anyway, right? The boy would not stay all too long. "My mother said she showed you once."

"She did, so you still live on the reservation?" Haytham then asked and put the newspapers down slowly as if it was a dangerous weapon.

"No." The boy said between two bites of his pancakes. Oh, the child was eating as if he had not eaten for days, really! Stupid thing! Had he been out there this whole time not eating and probably even sleeping outside in the wilderness?

"So then, where do you live?" He asked again, his patience beginning to get rather thin.

"Here."

"No."

"Of course."

"What makes you think that you can live here now?" Haytham moaned and resisted the urge to rest his forehead in the palm of his left hand.

"Well, you are my father!" The boy blurted matter-of-factly and the humming from _somewhere_ in his house suddenly stopped (He was almost sure that he heard something like _Oh my_ coming from _somewhere)_. For now, nothing was proven of course in that matter, but Haytham could not help but see all those little similarities between this child and his own father when he spoke like this. Yes, no matter how much he would like to deny it, he could almost hear his own father out of his alleged son's mouth.

"Until you can't proof that I refuse to acknowledge this as truth, thus you cannot stay here simply because you say so. So where do you live so I can bring you home?" And of course, a part of him already was very much aware that he would not get a decent answer.

"You _are_ my father! You dated my mother sixteen years ago and I am fifteen! How are you not my father?" The boy growled, his eyes wide again, but not in surprise but disbelieve this time. For him, it was easy like this as if seemed. For him it made sense! Oh, such naiveté!

"That does not proof anything, boy! I'm sorry to shatter your little bubble, child, but I don’t know who else your mother might have dated prior or after me! For all I know anyone could be your father! The photo you got there does not proof anything!" Haytham sighed but tried his best to remain calm and collected, no matter the bluntness of this boy.

"Don’t speak ill about my mom! You are my father and you cannot deny this!" He hissed. At least he was determined - One might argue that this was a very Kenway-esk character trait.

"You see I damn well can, boy. Proof to me that you are in fact my son and we will have a serious discussion over the future, but as long as you cannot provide the evidence I refuse to call you my son. Ziio would have told me otherwise. So, for one last time: Where do you live?"

There was a loud bang when the boy slammed his hands down on the tabletop before he jumped up, foaming with rage. "You are a fucking asshole! No wonder she ran away from you!" The boy hissed and his face was red with anger. "So don’t even bother with bringing me home! I don’t need no asshole like you bringing me home!" With that, he stomped out of the room as if they were in some kind of TV Drama of sorts. All that was missing was an angry dramatic Mexican guitar player in the background.  Haytham did not even think about standing up and why should he anyway? He would not run after this brat like a fucking retarded clown! Why would he? He was not his father. And even if he would be, he would not run after him! Instead, Haytham remained steady on his spot and listened to the noise of when the front door was slammed shut.

They did not really talk all that much last night and a part of him was sorry for that. Yes, that was the truth! Of course, it was not just the boy's fault that they hadn’t talked really – it was his fault too, but Haytham simply had not been able to come up with anything! There had been a million possibilities! He could have asked him so much about his life and his mother or really _anything_! Yet, he did not. He did not ask the boy another thing after he saw the photo of him and Ziio. Yet, suddenly he had remembered his last few days with Ziio and the way she used to put her hand on her stomach every time she had been lost in thought. Back then he had not noticed and of course not been able to understand. Now he slowly got it. Somewhat at least.

Slowly Haytham rose from his spot, left the kitchen and walked down the hall only to look outside. He could barely see the boy now. Well, he was fast and already up and away down the street. "Oh dear" The tiny voice of his housekeeper chirped somewhere behind him. "Where did your son go?"

Haytham nearly whirled around in shock about this comment. "Pardon?"

"Well, your son! Where did he go? Oh, such a lovely, sweet boy." She hummed, brushing her fingers over the kitchen towel she stuck into the waistband of her long skirt.

"He is not my son." Haytham simply sighed and felt like he said this sentence a million times already during the last week - or rather since the boy first appeared on his doorstep. "He is just a confused child, grieving because of his mother's death." He closed the door and turned to face the elderly woman, but she only raised one thin eyebrow at him. "What makes you think that he is my son?"

"Oh dear." Was all she had to say before she turned to go back to her work. Haytham was not used to be left that unsatisfied when he asked someone a question, but his housekeeper obviously couldn’t care less and Haytham was too proud to run after her and demand an answer like a petulant child.

\--------------------

Ratonhnhaké:ton did not quite know what to expect, honestly. He still did not. A week ago he stepped up those small stairs to the front porch of the big house far outside the streets of the busy, busy city. He never liked the city, but of course, he had been there a few times already. Mostly though with his mother. She had worked in the big city that was Boston and though it would have been easier for her to move into the city with her son, she did not, mainly because Ratonhnhaké:ton did not like it there. He preferred their little refuge outside the town and the small settlement he went to school in. He never knew anything else, of course, so his view on things might have been a bit clouded or narrow. But then again he knew his way around out in the wilderness and how many children could say the same really nowadays?

If he would have asked any person of his village, they would have said he should not go and look for his father - but then again he rarely really spoke to the adults anyway. Ratonhnhaké:ton liked to romanticize his time in the reservation a lot and he knew that, but truth was that the adults of his tribe always looked at him a certain way - especially his uncle. The only adult, except his mother, who treated him like all the other kids of the tribe was Oiá:ner, his grandmother. She was the clan mother, but even she did not manage to bring the others to treat Ratonhnhaké:ton like one of them. Maybe that was the reason for his name. Maybe his mother knew right from the start that he would not get treated as one of them - for he was not. He was the child of an outsider - heck, even worse! - He was the child of a white man! Of a British white man! His tribe went with the times and they were not like those weird people still living in the old times when their native routes were thicker, but they liked their secluded life, liked to keep up their heritage and their heritage included holding a grudge against the white men, as it seemed.

Ratonhnhaké:ton never understood what all that was about and he never understood why he was treated so differently than the others. He remembered asking his mother, but she never told him, only smiled in that very fashion only she managed to do: gentle and warm, but with sadness in her eyes and maybe even a tiny bit of guilt. She never liked talking about his father, but when he was very little she told him that he had been like a prince from a fairy tale. Back then he hadn't understood that she was talking about a _foreigner_ , about a Brit of all people. But back then he wouldn’t have understood either, why that was such a big deal within their tribe anyway.

He still did not.

Maybe he would never. The only person who told him not to go to his father was his best friend (and cousin) Kanen'tó:kon - but he was quite a coward anyway. _"This is bad! Oh, this is bad, Ratonhnhaké:ton!"_ He had said when Ratonhnhaké:ton packed his belongings and got ready for his little adventure. He had not really known where to begin his search or _how_ he was going to confront the man on the photo. He simply escaped the reservation, jumped into the first bus he spotted to Boston and began his little investigation. All he had was a name. A name and a photo and perhaps a small part of him really were mad about this. He did not understand why his mother kept this a secret for so long. What must this man have done to his mother that she would never talk about him but keep this photo as a keepsake?

Then again, was this photo a keepsake or was it a reminder, so she would never forget what never to do again? And was there really a difference?

Slowly he sat down on a tree trunk, after he got so far away from the house of his father, that he could only barely see it now. His mother never kept any secrets from him - only this one. Well, this was as bad as it got, he guessed. However, the man in the photo looked so nice and warm and gentle! His smile was so loving, his blue eyes so friendly! He found himself staring down at the photo once more - for the thousands of times maybe since he got it from his mother. And yes, he was angry. His flight from the reservation had been one quick decision after his mother died. Her corpse had not been cold yet when he jumped out of the window of their little house and climbed down the tree. He still heard his uncle's deep voice thundering after him, ordering him to come back and show some respect. He knew what he did was wrong - a crime against his mother and her love for him, but he couldn’t stand being there any second longer. He had felt sick and anxious after his mother simply gave the photo to him with his father's name written on the back, right before she passed away peacefully. That was it. Fifteen years of silence ending with silence and a photo.

He noticed the tears only after they started falling down on the photography in his shaking fingers. The words of his father were still burning in his ears and in his mind. Money. Money and reputation, that were all that mattered to this man! Of all things! How could he be so different from the man in the photo? How could sixteen years change so much about a man? _Well, what did you expect? Did you think he would take you in? Give you a bed? Be your father? He didn’t even know about you! What did you expect?_

Yes, what did he expect? Was he really so blind and dumb and naïve? A small hiccup reminded him of the fact that he indeed was crying, though there was no reason! Why would he cry? He should be angry! He should go on a rampage! He should rip this fucking photo and- and … Yes … what?

"Hey, there lad, what's wrong over there? Ain't it a too beautiful day for sitting out here crying like a lil' girl?" He almost fell off the tree trunk he sat on. It was a broad-shouldered tall guy standing not far from him near the street, wearing a silly hat and leisure clothing. His dress shirt was hanging loosely out of his pants and he somewhat looked as if he just pulled up his pants in surprise after being caught in some _pantsless_ action. Ratonhnhaké:ton could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment when the man strode towards him with long steps and he could not help but rub over his cheeks and put away the photo hastily. He had grayish eyes and dark hair for all Ratonhnhaké:ton could tell and he really could use a shave. When he was close enough and started to speak again Ratonhnhaké:ton could already smell the alcohol on his breath. "So? Ain't cha gonna speak to me, lad?"

No, he did not want to talk to that weird drunken guy! Very probably his face showed exactly what he was thinking - at least the face of the stranger told him that. "Oh, my! Do I look so very frightening to you, boy?" When the man was close his grin only grew wider. "Don’t I know you?" He said and his eyes focused once more on his face.

"No." Ratonhnhaké:ton simply growled before he got up from the tree trunk to get away, but the guy grabbed his forearm so hard that his little heart began racing in his small chest. "Let me go!" He hissed, foaming with rage, though it was only for show. Because, what if all those stories about the white men were true?!

"You look just like me fella' Haytham!" The man simply stated with big eyes and blotched cheeks (from the alcohol no doubt). "What are you even doing out here on your own anyway, lad? Did you try to steal from the good Mr. Kenway over there? Me good friend Charles told me all 'bout you! You're the lil' savage who's molesting Haytham, aren't cha?"

"Let me go!" By now the struggle was real and the face of the man only lit up in amusement about the fight the teenager kept up. He would not stand a chance against a full grown adult of course. He never was one to fight! Why would he anyway? There had been no need for that kind of stuff in his life by now! Oh, it had been a terrible mistake to come out here!

"Mr. Hickey!" The voice of a lady boomed across the meadows between them and the big house of Ratonhnhaké:ton's father. Well, he really did not get very far, mainly because he hadn't had a clue where to go to. "What are you doing over there, Sir? Mr. Kenway is already awaiting you!" The man finally let go of him and Ratonhnhaké:ton lost his balance and fell on his bum like a small child. When he looked over his shoulder he saw the housekeeper his father had employed and after this strange Mr. Hickey started walking towards the house, he saw how she gently waved for him, but in a way, this Mr. Hickey would not really notice (If his drunkenness would not prohibit him from noticing anyway).  She had walked a good distance through the meadows surrounding his father's properties to look for Mr. Hickey (or rather for him, as it seemed) and Ratonhnhaké:ton took his sweet time to grab his backpack, get up to his feet and started walking towards her. Mr. Hickey was long gone by the time he reached the woman.

"Why don’t you come inside again, boy?" She gently asked. Of course, she was not able to pronounce his name and so she would rather call him _boy_ like his father did. He did not mind. "I know Mr. Kenway can be a bit rough from time to time, but he really didn’t mean to scare you away, child. I guess he is just confused and doesn't know how to behave around you."

"He is an asshole." Ratonhnhaké:ton concluded quietly, staring down at his feet. "It was a mistake coming here."

"Oh, sweetie no. Don’t say that. Just give him time to understand all this. Your father is not a bad man, you see?" But Ratonhnhaké:ton only snorted.

"He _knows_ that he is my father and still he threw me out!" He growled. "He will never accept me as his son, all he cares about is money anyway! No, I am better off alone!" He could not force himself to go back to the house, even if his father would call for him. He could not. Maybe it was his hurt pride, maybe it was just … that he was deeply hurt. The only person who ever accepted him the way he was, was dead. He did not belong to his tribe and he did not belong here. He was two halves of two different worlds that refused to work together. He felt torn and uncertain and he had no clue what to do next. "Thank you anyway, but I better get going now."

"Where are you going, sweetie?" The woman asked a smile still on her face. She would not stop him that was clear to him, but not because she would not be able to, but because she knew it was best to let him go.

"Home." Ratonhnhaké:ton stated. His mother always taught him not to lie but now he had no other choice. If he was to go home, his people would try to care for him, but they would not do it out of love for him. They would never accept him and he was not ready to go back there and have their judging eyes upon him for something that was not his fault at all. Still, he forced a smile and turned to go with one last look to the house and to the shadow he could spot in one of the large windows.

\--------------------

Haytham hated the weekly phone conversations with his father. He really did, but since his sister would force him or threaten him to come on a visit with their elderly father, he had no other choice than to endure his father's weird stories every Sunday morning. When Haytham glanced at the clock, this time, he noticed that his father already talked for over one hour straight without letting Haytham ask or say anything. Well, he was like this, but a part of him was glad that his father was still sane and still knew exactly what was going on. He was not that old to begin with, but still … He should be glad.

"Father." He began, but he only rambled on and on like he always did. His father happened to be one of the greatest storytellers there ever was and ever will be on this beautiful thing they called earth, sadly for his son and daughter (or really anyone that came across the old pirate) that meant that they would hardly get the chance of really telling a story themselves.

_"And then Thatch, the old warhorse, said-"_

"Father!" Haytham tried again to interrupt the story and this time it worked, maybe because even his father was not deaf to the sharpness of his son's voice in that instance.

"What's up, lad? Something's bothering you?" He asked. Yeah well, one might say his father was eccentric and maybe even a narcissist, but at least he was always worried for his children in some way or another. He had been an absent father most of Haytham's life due to the work and the empire he built so his kids would have a better life than he had, but nonetheless, he had been a loving father when he got the chance at least.

"No, not really. I just-" That _just_ wasn’t like him at all. "I wondered, father, did you ever regret not being there for Jenny?" There was silence on the other side for a moment and then a strained sigh. He knew that sound and he knew the face that came with it. They never really spoke about this, nor did they speak about his father's own past or the way he had been brought up. Was he now getting sentimental? And all this only because of a photo?

"Yes." His father then said. Normally he would try to escape giving an answer when it came to questions like this, but now … well, he was getting old, right? "Yes, I do regret this. If I would have known about her, I would not have left to go and make money. We would not have what we have now, I suppose, but I would have stayed nonetheless. Nothing is more precious than seeing your own child growing up. I guess Jenny never forgave me and I guess she never will." He then chuckled, though Haytham knew that he did not find that funny at all. The old pirate still got a heart of gold as it seemed. "But why do you ask this now? Something happened?"

"No." Haytham then lied. "I just wanted to know." And then, Haytham really had no clue why he continued. "How would you react if there was a boy standing in front of your door telling you that he is your son?"

There was silence on the other side. Thick, heavy silence and then the call ended without any further explanation. Haytham only listened to the loud beeping coming from the telephone, signalizing that he had fucked up greatly.


	3. Chapter 3

The moment the phone call with his father ended, Haytham E. Kenway knew that he was doomed. It was not as if he would not love his old father because, of course, he loved the old pirate – only that he loved him more when he was far, far away. Having an ocean between him and his father (and his older half-sister) proofed to be of great value for the young Kenway, after he first got accustomed to his new surroundings here in the US and A. He knew that his father was jumping in his private plane to get as fast as possible to his son after a phone call like this. The only thing Haytham could hope for was that his sister would stay in London and not follow their insane father.

Therefore, when the next day came and the old Mrs. Tailor was already rummaging his house, Haytham was not even that surprised when his doorbell rang. Only shortly, he looked up to have a glance at the clock hanging above the kitchen door. He preferred sitting in the kitchen (no matter that he was not eating) for breakfast, that was one habit of his that he never quite managed to leave behind and as long as Mrs. Tailor did not mind him sitting here while she was working, all was fine and dandy – after all it was _his_ house.

"Oh my! A visitor so early in the day!" Mrs. Tailor chirped and brushed her hands off on the dishtowel that she always stuck into the waistband of her skirts or trousers. She was a plump little woman and her body told the tale of the four children she gave birth to, while her wrinkles and the first gray strands of hair in her otherwise mouse brown curls showed him the worries she endured because of those four children. Last winter her forehead had earned a few more deep lines when her oldest son got into a car crash but survived miraculously.

It was eight o'clock and Haytham was just about finishing his coffee and getting his stuff so he could get to work. Of course, he was the head of the company in the US, but that did not mean that he could loaf around all day. There were appointments to tend to, meetings to attend, and reports to read.

"I should’ve gone straight away." Haytham mumbled when he sat down his cup, while Mrs. Tailor already hurried towards the door, a tune still on her lips. Haytham knew what was coming and yet, no matter how much he braced himself for it, nothing could prepare him for the moment he heard the thundering footsteps of Mr. Edward James Kenway coming down the hallway and right towards the kitchen.

"Where is my sweet little grandson?" Well, sweet and little were words Haytham would not quite associate with the boy claiming to be his son. No, this boy was neither sweet nor _little_. His father, no matter his age, burst into the kitchen staring into the void where he expected his grandson to be (probably in a cradle or high chair or something ridiculous as this). Slowly Haytham set down his newspaper and looked up at his father. He was almost seventy years now, but there were only a few gray hairs in his blond mane, that he wore still way too long for a man his age (something the Kenways had in common, as it seemed).

"Where is he?" Edward Kenway asked again, but this time directed at him. Haytham could only sigh a little and lean back in his chair.

"I am pleased to see you too, father. Who is where?" Haytham then asked though he, of course, knew perfectly well, who his father was looking for. Well, he did provoke this, didn't he? If he would not have had asked that stupid question the day before on the telephone in this moment of mental success after that very exhausting week, his father would have never come to the idea to raid his son's home in the first place.

"My grandson! Your son!" Edward chirped without even greeting his own son at all. Yeah well, that was not really new to Haytham. When his father bit down on a topic or something spiked his interest he was not to be distracted from it at all cost. Determination really was a characteristic _Kenway trait._

"Pardon? I don’t know what you are talking about, father." Haytham simply stated when he slowly got up. He needed to go to work, that was of course if he did not want that Charles would get a heart attack because his boss would be five minutes late. Charles was quite the pencil pusher, but he was useful and most importantly dutiful (though maybe a bit too devoted to his work _and_ to Haytham).

"Your son! You told me that you have a son!" Edward claimed still standing flabbergasted in his small kitchen. Back in London, they had not only their mansion at the _Queen Anne's Square_ but also a few other estates and he had often been mocked by his father for the house Haytham chose when he moved to the US. It was quite a big mansion, but not nearly as large as the one their home base in Great Britain and for Haytham that was not important either. He did not need the palace his father would have seen fit for the heir to his throne. He was alone anyway, wasn't he? Yet again, he was met with the thought of having a family of his own. Again, he was struck by his feelings he once had for Ziio and the kids they could have had filling this large house with laughter and ruckus. By now, the news of Ziio's death still was not really registered by his brain. Well, no, that was not the truth, actually. He understood that Ziio died, but he … He did not understand what that meant.

He was used to dealing with death. His mother had died quite a while ago and he had a few friends that died. He knew how to deal with death. Still … Suddenly, he felt so uprooted!

"I never told you that I have a son." Haytham simply stated when he gulped down the rest of his coffee and left the kitchen, his elderly father right at his heels.

"Yes, you did! Haytham!" Oh, there was this tone! Now his father was suddenly serious (and maybe just a little bit angry at his behavior).

"No, I did not." Haytham sighed and grabbed his suitcase. "What I did was to ask you a hypothetical question, which you would have understood, if you wouldn't have ended the phone call so impolite. So, if you would allow, I need to go to work now, father. Good day, I hope your flight back to London will be pleasant, greetings to my sister."

Haytham left the house and felt like a total asshole when he got into his car. His father did not come after him and he felt guilty for leaving him behind like this. After all, he was his father and he was seventy years old! Only, god knew how long Haytham would be able to be around his father! He should enjoy being with his father instead of treating him like this. He did not even really know why he was so cold towards his father, after all, their bond was quite good! It was not as tight as it could be, but he loved his father, no question about this!

"Sir, is everything alright?" Shay's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and back to reality. The whole morning he spent thinking about his father and his relationship with him, about the death of his mother and about Ziio. Maybe he even thought about that boy claiming to be his son. Mrs. Tailor told him that he said he wanted to go home, but Haytham was not so sure about that.

Shay was standing next to his desk a pile of files in his arms, probably so Haytham would sign them. Apparently, he had talked to Haytham, but Haytham himself had not heard any of this. Shay Patrick Cormac was his private secretary and maybe a little bit more of his right-hand man than Charles Lee was (though good old Charles liked to think otherwise). Shay was taking care of all those tedious mediocre tasks Haytham had not the right mindset for and without him, he would very probably pretty much be quite lost in his day to day life, if it was not for Shay coordinating this appointments and meetings.

"Yes." Haytham finally stated clearing his throat. "Everything's fine. These are the contracts I assume?"

"Yes, sir." Shay smirked and put down the files in his arms so that Haytham could sign them. He would stay and wait until Haytham was done and when he was done, Haytham gave the files back to Shay, but the man would not just vanish like this. "Sir, there is something else." Shay then said and when Haytham looked up there was a nervous smile tugging on the lips of the secretary in his dark suit.

"What's wrong?" Shay was rather rarely nervous. He was a man that normally knew what he wanted and what was expected of him. He was serious, concentrated and reliable, something Haytham valued greatly.

"You see, Sir, there is someone waiting for you in the lobby." Shay sighed.

Haytham wanted to turn around again after he stepped into the lobby and spotted the blonde tuft of his father lounging on one of the large couches they put there for visitors, who needed to wait for someone. He wanted to just flee this building and escape meeting his father once again this day, but there was no chance of doing this. So, Haytham straightened his spine and walked on towards his father. After all, he was Haytham Edward Kenway and he could take on anyone who stood in his fucking way – even his father.

"It was not nice leaving your poor old father behind like this." Edward stated before Haytham even reached him and got up from his spot on the sofa. Well, of course, he was right, though Haytham did not really like to admit to it. He was behaving like a total asshole for no apparent reason. His father's blue eyes (the same eyes Haytham inherited), were like steel when they met his, but Haytham did not cave in.

"What do you want?" He asked instead of apologizing to his father. He was pretty sure that his father knew that Haytham could not jump his pride as easy as this. That was just another typical Kenway character trait, he guessed.

"What do you think? We will go and search for your son, of course. Don’t even try to lie to me again, I talked to Mrs. Tailor after you left me behind like a spoiled brat." Oh, Mrs. Tailor. In theory, he would fire her for this treachery, but since he never had a housekeeper as she, he would refrain from this punishment.

\--------------------

It was getting cold. Of course, October was slowly coming to its end, the trees were shaking off their dead leaves and Ratonhnhaké:ton was freezing. There was no way he would go back to his tribe. No fucking way. Instead, he built his little camp in the vast forest not all too far from his father's house. Maybe this was dumb. He could not stay here forever. He needed to go to school again. He missed already too much of it and he missed his best friend dearly.

Still, if he would go back to the settlement to visit the small school, he would ultimately need to go back to his tribe. They would say that they had missed him greatly and that they had feared for his life, and Ratonhnhaké:ton would have no other choice but to go back, knowing that all of this was false. They had never really been worried about him, never really feared for his wellbeing – at least no one except for Kanen and his grandmother.

It was already getting late this day and while the sun was sinking slowly beyond the treetops, it was getting colder and colder. The air was quite humid after the storm just a little while ago and the ground was still a bit wet, just as the wood, Ratonhnhaké:ton picked up for building a little campfire. Under these conditions, he would never manage to get it to burn. So, all he could really do was to slowly nibble on the crackers he still had after his little and unprepared flight from his tribe and snuggle into his woolen blankets, with his back against a thick old tree. He always used to like being in the forest and being around all those very old trees, whispering to him stories of long forgotten times and advising him where to go.

Yet, since his mother's death, the woods did not feel like they did before. She was everywhere around him, as it seemed. The trees were whispering of her death and of all the things that she taught her son. Everything he knew about survival in the woods and about hunting, he learned from her. He had his mother's eyes and that meant he would never escape her, no matter how far he would travel and how angry he was growing at her.

Shivering he snuggled more into his blankets. All he could hope for was that it would not start to rain again. Tomorrow he would need to decide what he was going to do from now on. He needed a plan what he was to do next. Should he try to confront his father once more or should he give up? He was never one to give up. He was stubborn like a mule! His mother always laughed about his stubbornness, when he raged about the injustices he experienced as a little boy only because other kids stole his toys or anything of that sorts. She too was a stubborn woman, and yet she always told him that he was just as stubborn as his father was. That was all he got from her until the day she died.

He was startled by the sound of a loud rustling noise and of heavy steps moving through the underwood, breaking little twigs on the ground. Ratonhnhaké:ton was not fast enough to get up and hide, before the person he just started hearing moving somewhere near, got in seeing distance. "Why, hello there, young Sir."

Ratonhnhaké:ton jumped up immediately and almost fell because his blanket was wrapped so tightly around himself. It was an elderly black man, standing only a few feet away from him. He had long hair, though he was wearing his hair in a thick ponytail, which already started to grow gray, just as the stubbles around his thick jaw. He was walking a little bit hunched over, resting his weight on a walking stick. He was wearing an old-fashioned brown hat and a thick beige woolen coat. Wrinkles were gently shaping his face into the expression of a wise old man – the mentor type, Ratonhnhaké:ton never really understood. Over his shoulder, he carried a large backpack and a fishing rod and in his other hand, he held a cooler in which he very probably carried the fish he apparently managed to catch.

"What are you doing here in the middle of the woods so late? It's getting cold, boy. You better get home soon." The man said when he slowly got closer. He had very warm, brown eyes, something Ratonhnhaké:ton immediately liked about the man and yet he rather tried being careful, for he did not know this man or what he wanted to do with him maybe. He could not think of a response to this man, though. He did not like lying but he could not say that he did not have a home too, right? The old man at least seemed to get that Ratonhnhaké:ton was not willing to say something right away. "I am Achilles." The man finally introduced himself to him when he was close enough to offer him his hand after setting down his cooler. "Achilles Davenport."

Well, he had been brought up to be polite, hadn’t he? "I'm Ratonhnhaké:ton." He silently stated and the man smirked.

"Of course you are. Well, boy, I will not even try to pronounce that name right." He smiled and shook Ratonhnhaké:ton's hand gently. He was not even offended by the things Achilles stated. Well, he had heard this reaction often enough, so, he cleared his throat and let go of the large hand again.

"You can call me Connor." He finally murmured.

"Connor?" The man asked, surprise written all over his face before that face lit up more and more. "What a coincidence, my son is named Connor too." He told him and though it could very much be a blatant lie to get his trust, Ratonhnhaké:ton believed him and found himself even smiling at this. Maybe he really was too naïve.

"Really?" He asked quietly, fumbling on his blanket.

"Yes. He studies in Boston." Achilles smiled. "You don’t have a place to go to, right? Did you run away?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton sighed. There was no use in lying, right? However, before he could really answer Achilles, the man looked up to the sky. "It's about to start raining again. You can come with me. My house is quite near and my wife is about to cook dinner anyway."

\--------------------

Haytham felt like walking through a Deja-vu when he entered the Kanien'kehá:ka settlement for the first time in sixteen years. The little settlement of Ziio's tribe had not changed all that much in those sixteen years. There were only one or two little houses more all scattered around the lake, enclosed by the palisade fence.

It was a quite a lovely spot, which was something Haytham had always admired about Ziio's tribe and the place they once settled. She once told him that her tribe had been forced to leave this place behind during the revolutionary war, but then, around a hundred years ago, got it back from the government to build it up again. The houses were not very big and completely built of wood, but they sufficed he supposed. Ziio's house stood near the shore of the lake, but far enough away so that her house would not get flooded by high tide. She had been living alone for what he recalled – later with her son of course – and the only difference he could now spot on her house was, that her house earned one level more.

There were no signs of life inside Ziio's house. Maybe the boy was not even there, but with his grandmother. The door of Oiá:ner's house was ajar, but Haytham remembered that it had always been like this during the day. All of the doors were mostly open for they were a very secluded community and did not need to fear any trouble from outsiders, plus they were all working quite closely together, when they were not out and working at their normal day to day jobs in the big city or whatever they were doing to earn money.

Haytham always admired the community they had here. The women of the tribe who were not working were taking care of all the children who were not yet old enough to visit school or kindergarten. Ziio once told him that she had been one of those women when she was still studying. Ziio never was the archetype of a mother, so he had only laughed because of the image he had in his mind of her shooing kids around, getting all annoyed because of them. On the other hand though, he never doubted that she was a good mother, since he learned about the existence of her child - and even when they had been a couple he might have laughed about the story she told him, but yet he did imagine her to be a good mother if it would have ever come to it.

"It's very pretty here." His father silently admitted, while they slowly walked through the small settlement. Haytham already aimed for Oiá:ner's house. His best chance of finding this boy, was his grandmother as it seemed and the old leader of the clan too was the only member of the tribe that had been at least a little bit kind to him. She never accepted that her daughter chose a white man as her boyfriend, but at least she never let him feel her resentment for him, like Ziio's brother and his wife did.

In front of Oiá:ner's house he stopped and braced himself. He did not even know why he felt so nervous all of the sudden. He did not even know why he came to this place with his father only because his father insisted on hearing the full story and seeing the boy that claimed to be his grandson. For Haytham it was clear that he was not his son and yet he was here. Maybe he just wanted to ensure that the boy had come home safely. He was, after all, Ziio's child and thus a part of the only woman Haytham ever really loved.

"He is not here." A raspy, but still strong voice sounded from behind him and his father. When Haytham whirled around, Oiá:ner stood at the edge of another house, resting her weight on a thick stick. She looked more fit than her walking stick would let him assume, and her eyes were still wide open and wide-awake too when she looked at him. Her face was as wrinkled as a raisin and her skin even a bit darker than he remembered. Her hair was gray as steel and still long and braided, just as he remembered it, just as Ziio liked to wear it. Her whole being radiated wisdom and solitude. Even if he would not know it, he would immediately sense that this woman was the clan leader, if he would see her now for the first time.

His father (who really did see Oiá:ner for the first time) immediately straightened his back and gave his best attempt at appearing as if he was a sophisticated and polite member of society. Haytham had only ever seen one person having this effect on his stubborn and insane father and that person had been Haytham's own mother, Tessa Kenway (Tessa Stephenson-Oakley, how his father lovingly called her still). As for Caroline Scott-Kenway, he could not make that assumption. Not even his sister with her ice-cold eyes had this effect on the old pirate.

Slowly Haytham bridged the distance between him and Oiá:ner to greet her as polite as humanly even possible. If he had married Ziio, this woman would be his mother in law after all. After the nod he always only got from this woman as a greeting, Haytham cleared his throat but tried to appear absolutely confused. "Who do you mean, ma'am?" He then asked, but Oiá:ner only rolled her eyes and looked past Haytham and at his father, who slowly closed the distance between them. Her whole demeanor was that of her daughter when she first met Haytham.

"I believe your son always chose delusion over reality, right?" The old woman asked and Edward simply laughed at this. Haytham did not even want to ask how in the world Oiá:ner knew that the old man was his father (then again they shared a few similarities, if only their eyes). "I mean your son, young Mr. Kenway." Oiá:ner then stated with a grim face and a voice as sharp as a freshly sharpened blade. "Ratonhnhaké:ton did not come home yet after he ran away almost two weeks ago. And believe me, if he would have dared to come back home yet, I would have already spanked him so hard he would not be able to sit for at least three months. The boy did not even wait for his mother's funeral before he ran away! He really has a lot of his mother." And of _her_ , Haytham suddenly thought. The way she furrowed her brows was just the way the boy had furrowed his brows.

Suddenly Haytham felt nervous and anxious again, but this time not because Oiá:ner's gaze was resting on him, but because of her words. The boy still had not come back home? He left Haytham's property Saturday morning and now they had Monday afternoon. No matter the distance, the boy would have been able to get back here by now! What if something had happened to the kid? He was so very naïve! Even Hickey met him and under different circumstances, he could have really had harmed the stupid teenager!

When a guy like Hickey was drunk or still hungover from last night's drinking session, a stubborn teenager like this boy would be a most welcome apology to start a classic fist to cuffs fight, even though one opponent was superior over the other. What if someone now _had_ harmed him? He had no clue why that would really concern him, for he was clearly not his father, but at least a little part of him felt responsible for the kid's wellbeing after he had left his property like this. At least he should have driven him home safely!

"He is not-"

"He _is_ your son." Oiá:ner stated determined, her face so serious that he would not dare to provoke her rage. "He does have much of you, now that I see you and your father here in front of me, I can tell."

"What makes you so sure?" Haytham growled though he could already feel the broad hand of his father resting on his shoulder, demanding his attention.

"She told me." Oiá:ner said. "Kaniehtí:io told me that she was pregnant with your child and my daughter would have never lied about something so serious as this."

"Then why did she never come forward to me? Why did she never contact me? If he really were my son, I would have cared for them. At least I would have paid alimony! So excuse me, if I don’t buy this crap and if it is my money you guys want-" Oiá:ner looked as if she was about to hit him with her stick over the head and his father grabbed his shoulder only harder. A warning. Clearly.

One was able to tell a lot of stories about his father and the old pirate might not have been the most faithful husband to his first wife, while he was traveling the seven seas in his hunt for a greater wealth, but he was a man of honor nonetheless. If his father would know he had a bastard son or daughter somewhere in the world, he would care for them and not only by paying alimony. In Edward's mind, he surely had not raised his son to be such an asshole, that only thought about the money a kid would cost him – no matter the fact that his own father only cared about money and fortune for a very large part of his life.

"I told her to do exactly that, but you knew my daughter just as well as I. She was a pride woman and her pride was always standing in her way. She once thought about contacting you, right after Ratonhnhaké:ton's birth, but then she changed her mind. Kaniehtí:io decided that she would make it on her own and that she would not need you or anyone for that matter. She did not want your money - _We_ do not want your money. All I want from you is that you bring back my grandson because judging by your whole demeanor that is a task only you can fulfill."

\--------------------

It really was raining by the time the night fell about the Davenport settlement within the woods. The house was big and old, the balks were groaning through the darkened hours of this day, and the rain was splattering as heavy against the windows as if it wanted to break the glass entirely. It was eerily quiet inside the house (the _homestead_ , how Achilles called the house), but Connor could not find sleep, while lying on the thick, comfortable green couch standing near the colonial fireplace, with the light of the flames dancing over the glass of picture frames and faces. The sound of the crackling fire was quite soothing to him, though, just as the rain outside was. It reminded him of home.

He still had no clue what he was about to do. He was well aware on the fact that it could not go on like this. He was only fifteen and there was no way that he would try to make it on his own, right?

"Can't you find sleep, Connor?" The voice of the old man sounded from the door that was located in the general direction of Connor's head. He did not move, but the old man entered the room and sat down heavily on the armchair near the fire. "Me neither."

"Why?" Connor finally asked, but pulled his blankets more around his body to get more comfortable (and to hide, so he would escape answering a stupid question).

The old man sighed, but a soft smile was still on his face. He was a nice man and his wife was so too, which was quite a pleasant surprise to Connor, after he already expected to be filleted for dinner, instead of the fish. However, Mrs. Davenport took him in as if it was nothing, fed him, gave him the chance of having a hot bath and made sure he would have his little nest as comfortable as possible. "Well, when you are becoming my age, you will understand." He chuckled and Connor frowned. He did not like it when people would refer to his age when trying to escape explaining something to him. He was fifteen, after all, not five!

"Pffth." Connor replied helpfully.

"So, Connor." Achilles then started up again. "You do know that you cannot run away forever, right?"

Connor grumbled and only crawled deeper under his blankets. He did not want to talk about this. He already told Achilles about his little journey to meet his father and that, after he finally found him, he had been thrown out like a misbehaving dog - though he had thrown himself out to be more precise.

"You need to go back home. I understand if you are afraid of the punishment awaiting you from your tribe, but you should go nonetheless. If you want I could give you a ride and-"

"I know." Connor interrupted him with an annoyed huff though the old man did nothing to deserve his annoyance. Then again, he _was_ a teenager after all, right? Any adult should expect bratty behavior of him). "I know that I have to go back, but I don’t wanna." He then stated. "They don’t want me there anyway!" _Nobody_ seemed to want him around - Not his tribe, nor his father. Perhaps he was now all alone after his mother was gone. It was okay, he guessed. There were millions and millions of kids in the world who did not have parents and somehow managed to make it on their own!

"What about your mother?" Achilles asked, his voice filled with all the patience that only came with age and having raised a child already. "She surely worries for you."

"She's dead." Connor growled and pulled his blanket over his head. As soon as the next morning would come, he would escape this place again! It was not fair. He was being an ungrateful little brat, but he could not stand those questions. Achilles though stayed - at least he did not hear him leave.

"I see." Achilles murmured and Connor heard the little squeak of the armchair when Achilles leaned back to get more comfortable. "Did you at least say goodbye?"

He had been with his mother when she died, but he knew that that was not was Achilles meant. He meant if he took part in her funeral. So, he shook his head under the blanket. "No." He whispered silently, not even aware if the old man would be able to hear him muffled by the blanket. It did not matter anyway. Nothing seemed to matter now.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of a happy little fire came crackling from the old fireplace of the living room, while the smoke was leaving through the chimney and cast a small column into the darkening sky of this late afternoon. Connor had always loved the sound and warmth and the smell of a fire, warming their home, while he was snuggling to his mother on their large sofa. His mother was a stern parent, a merciless woman even. Normally, when she came home from work, she was a bit tense and had neither the time nor the nerves to put up with her son's mess. Today, though, when she came home to find her five-year-old covered in mud and leaves from head to toe, she did not smack him and she did not yell at him. Maybe, because he had been crying already so much, after being bullied by the other kids of their village.

"I don’t like it here." Connor now hiccupped, after his mother had bathed him and dressed him in his comfortable, warm and soft PJ's. "The other kids are always so mean t-to me."

His mother gently brushed her fingers through his still wet and quite long hair and he only snuggled closer. She was not one for many words and mostly relied on gestures and her facial expression to communicate what she was thinking or feeling. She did not normally need to scream or yell at him, a gloomy look would suffice for the most instances. "What happened?" She then asked. No pet names. Never pet names. Connor did not really understand why, but he sometimes wondered about it, for all the other mommies used pet names for their kids. His mother never did. This was not due to a lack of love, he was sure of it, it was just his mother's way.

"The other kids bullied me."

"Yes, that’s what you always tell me, Ratonhnhaké:ton." She sighed, but her voice had this little bit of sharpness to it, that told him unmistakably that he needed to give a proper answer right now.

"They said I was a bastard." Connor exclaimed, though clearly he did not even know what the word bastard really meant, but he was quite sure that the older kids did (for they were older and thus wiser than he was) and that they sure were right about their judgment of his person.

"And what do you think that means?" His mother asked. Other mothers (normal mothers) would probably coo over their poor kids and torment whoever hurt them in any way whatsoever, his mother, on the other hand, liked to talk to him like to an adult and a small part of him appreciated this, though he would not mind getting cooed over from time to time.

"I don’t know." He then admitted quietly and his mother sighed deeply.

"So why are you so upset then? The word means nothing Ratonhnhaké:ton. It just means that your father and I were not married when we got you." She was completely calm and straightforward about this issue and like this, she was most of the time when discussing _adult topics_ with him.

Connor was silent for a moment because he was still thinking over her answer. "Is that a bad thing?" He then quietly asked. "The other parents are all married." Because they were! He was sure that they really were all married! Why not his mother? Why was she always so very different from all the other mothers?

"No, it is not, sweetie." She then sighed and pressed a small kiss to his temple. _Sweetie_. This was the first time she called him that, at least for the time he could remember. "It was considered bad a long time ago."

"Like … in medieval times?" Because they had just spoken about medieval times in kindergarten yesterday and the topic was still fresh in his mind. He did not quite grasp how long ago those mysterious _medieval times_ were, but in his head, it sounded like a long, long time ago.

"Yes, like way back in medieval times." His mother answered with a small chuckle and again started brushing her thin fingers through his hair. He quite liked this.

"So … How was my dad?" He carefully dared to ask, for this was a topic, they normally tried not to discuss - Or at least his mother tried not to discuss this topic at any given chance. For him, it had been normal to not have a father, for he never experienced it otherwise, but now he started to understand that this was not the normal way indeed. All the other kids in the village or in his kindergarten had dads.

His mother sighed deeply, but instead of breaking apart and ending this conversation, as she would normally do, she pulled him closer and rested her chin on his tuft of hair. She smelled wonderfully of her lavender hand cream. "He was like a prince from a fairy tale."

\--------------------

It had been a long day and an even longer night before that. After they left Kanatahséton, the village of the Mohawks, his father managed to force him to go on a search for the boy right away. Of course, in theory, Haytham was normally no man who would let himself be forced to do anything at all, but he was still somewhat dependent on his father. He knew of course that his father would never disown him and that he would never be in any real danger to lose his standing in society or in the company, but like the good son he was, he still needed to listen to the old man from time to time, if just to give his father the illusion of still being the head of the family.

Naturally, Haytham tried to get his father to refrain from this fruitless activity of going on a search for a boy that was not even his son, no matter what Oiá:ner might have said about all this. Deep within his mind, he knew that Ziio really was not that type of woman who would lie about something as serious as this to her mother, but he still refused to see it as truth. He was a man who liked being presented with unquestionable evidence and sadly, the word of the woman he once loved so dearly was not enough. His father, on the other hand, stated that it was their duty (Haytham's duty) to go and look for the child he scared away like this, so he would not be harmed.

They spent hours on searching the woods around the village until it had turned dark and too cold and as soon as his father had finished his breakfast this very morning they had been up and about once more (against Haytham's clearly articulated opinion). It was afternoon by the time Haytham and his father drove down the road leading to his house once again and the sun was already hanging low in the skies and painting the clear blue sky in a very pretty dark pink and orange. The road was as deserted as ever, though there were more than enough other houses around. It was not as if he would live so far out that he did not have any neighbors - only that he did not need to see them every time he left his house.

"Why did you and this woman, Ziio, even split?" His father finally asked at his side, leaning back into the comfortable leather seats of his car, while Haytham drove down the street. This was not really a topic he wanted to discuss with his father at all, though he was surprised his father held it back for so long. He knew his father good enough to know that he was not a very patient man, after all.

"It did not work." He simply answered, fully aware that his father would not believe this stupid lie and when he felt his look on his face, he could only sigh. "I don’t know, alright? I don’t know what it really was that has driven her away, but at one point we started fighting about some meaningless bullshit she came up with and then it was over."

His father remained silent, though Haytham already knew that there was something on his father's mind waiting to be said desperately. "What?" He sighed, maneuvering his car into his driveway, enjoying the most familiar sound of the pebble stones crunching under the tires like freshly fallen snow. Soon it would start to snow, he could already feel it. November was right around the corner and the air was already freezing cold as soon as night hit. Then the world would be sugared again.

"Well," His father started. "Are you sure that you have not said something offensive to her? You see, son, I love you, but you tend to offend people a lot. Not everyone is able to understand your deep level of sarcasm or your dark humor! Maybe you said something that had hurt her feelings and-"

Haytham rolled his eyes and got out of his car without even letting his father finish. "Ziio was not a woman that was easily offended, don’t worry about that." In fact, his father would have loved Ziio. Ziio had been much like his mother, now that he really thought about it and maybe that was why he chose her in the first place. She had been such a strong-willed, stubborn individual. She had known exactly what she wanted and how she was going to get it. He did not ask the boy how his mother had really died, perhaps because he did not want to hear something that would be able to hurt his own poor, poor heart more than the news of her death already had.

Slowly he walked up to his front porch with a sigh, his father already at his heels again. "So what now, father? We searched all day and did not find him. Will you give up now?"

"Of course not. You heard what this woman, Oiá:ner, said! He is your son and you must keep looking for him!" His father was really determined and he believed this stranger more than his son without thinking twice, if only because he wanted Haytham to have kids, if only he yearned for a grandchild. Really, since he moved to the US not one year had passed without his father sending him _letters of application_ from women that wanted to get married desperately. It was not as if his father wanted to secure the fate of their company with having grandchildren, Haytham was well aware that this was not the reason for his father's concerns. A part of him envied his sister, for she was spared this fate of being tormented and pressured by their elderly father after she only frowned upon her suitors for the most part.

He was just about to say something again when he put his keys into the keyhole to open the door when something else grabbed his attention. He could not really determine what it was, but the ruckus coming from his garden was loud enough to make him pause and listen for just a moment.

\--------------------

He had left Achilles's house before the first beams of sunlight had hit the ground that was covered in leaves. Connor was well aware that Achilles had watched him from his bedroom window when he sneaked out of the house, but at least Connor had written him and his wife a little note and laid it on the kitchen counter. He wanted at least to thank them and to explain himself after they showed him so much humility and friendliness. Not matter if Achilles watched him leave or not, he did nothing to stop him either and Connor was grateful for that.

Still, Connor had felt guilty and he still did, while he was making his way through Boston. He really hated the big city, but he knew where his father was working (Well, that was not the right term, he guessed) and he wanted to try to reach him there. He arrived at the _E. Kenway and son Cooperation_ around noon and he spent at least half an hour only staring at the building. He wanted to scoop up his courage and walk in there! He really did, still, he did not. He remained frozen on the spot, just looking at the building, watching the people entering and leaving the complex as if he was not standing here like a creep.

A few of the employees of the company were looking at him puzzled when they noticed the native boy with the dark circles under his eye and the wild and untamed mane standing in front of the company, but no one dared to speak to him. _Come on now!_ _You are no coward!_ He reminded himself and finally (after almost one hour) forced himself to start moving. The automatic doors opened for him and a few heads turned. There were not so many people roaming around the lobby actually and Connor noticed right away that there was no way in reaching his father without getting through the security first.

It smelled quite nicely and fresh within the lobby, not so dusty and heavy he imagined originally. There was a crap load of plants standing around the lobby, being reflected in the polished dark tiles. The woman on the front desk looked at him wide eyed when he stepped closer and closer. She was probably sure he was going to shoot her or something and he could already see her left hand grabbing the underside of her desk as if preparing herself to push the panic button.

"How can I help you, sir?" The woman behind the front desk chirped, but the tenseness of her voice told him that she was way more nervous than normally.

"I … I …" He began and cleared his throat. "Haytham Kenway."

"Pardon?"

"I need to see Haytham Kenway." He tried again and was sure that he felt more frightened than this woman were – and quite reasonable so.

"I'm afraid that is not possible, sir. Mr. Kenway does not welcome guests without appointment." She forced a smile to at least appear friendly, but Connor could, of course, feel how she really thought about him. It was not as if he was looking like a tramp! His clothes were a little bit stained from living in the wilderness in the last two weeks but other than this, his attire was completely in order! Well, maybe not as this lady was expecting.

"But I need to see him." Connor tried once more and this woman grew only more nervous, while Connor was frantically thinking of an argument with which he could manage to persuade her. However, how was he supposed to persuade her to let him through? Why in the world should some random teenager need to meet Mr. Haytham Kenway? It was hopeless!

"And why is that?" The lady then asked, her voice now a lot sharper and her eyes drilling into his, as she finally seemed to understand that he was no threat to her but only a minor annoyance in her otherwise perfect day. Yes, why was that? Why did he need to see his father? He had already heard his opinion, right? Haytham did not want anything to do with him!

"I…" And he came running after him like a dog anyway! He was pathetic! "I … um…"

"Mr. Kenway." A voice sounded from his left and the lady behind the desk looked puzzled in the general direction of the voice. It took him a moment until he understood that the voice was addressing _him_ and when he turned, he was met with the sight of a young man with long black hair, that he wore pulled back into a ponytail. His black suit fitted his body so perfectly that it was obviously tailored just for him. His dark eyes had a friendly shimmer to them, though he needed a shave and a large scar was decorating (some might say _disfiguring_ ) his face.

"Mr. Cormac!" The woman exclaimed and almost jumped from her chair, clearly excited to see him, her cheeks suddenly a bright red. Well, he did not look bad, he supposed. The man (Mr. Cormac as it seemed) looked at Connor though and ignored the woman at the front desk.

"Welcome, young Mr. Kenway." He smirked and shot him a small impish glance. He apparently knew already about the whole situation, though Connor had no clue how or why. "Mr. Kenway is not here today, but if you prefer I could give him a call."

"No … No … Its okay…" He stammered and slowly walked backward, away from the dark haired man. He did not like that this man seemed to know exactly who he was. He did not believe that his father told whoever this Mr. Cormac was to him about the situation! So why should anyone really know about his existence? "I just go." And with that, he almost fled the building and only stopped as soon as he was out in the sunlight again to take a deep breath.

"Mr. Lee told me." Mr. Cormac's voice suddenly sounded from behind him and Connor did not even need to turn around to know that he followed him the moment Connor decided to run away like a baby. "It appears your father told Mr. Lee and Mr. Lee apparently thinks of you as a stalker. I do not – just so you know. Maybe you try to go to Mr. Kenway's house and confront him again about this whole situation."

Connor only nodded, though he did not even know why or why this man got so interested and invested in this whole situation. He did not know who this Mr. Lee-guy was or why he was involved in this situation or why his father should even talk about this situation with really anyone after he so clearly stated that Connor was not his son. It was not really persistent, was it? Connor did not look back when he hurried away from the company, but he could almost feel Mr. Cormac staring after him.

When he reached his father's home, his car was not even in the driveway as it used to when he was home. The only day he had not seen it outside was, when the storm had hit and his father had parked the car in the garage to protect it from harm. Connor thought fondly of this night when the storm had hit Boston, no matter the damage it had done to the city. They did not talk much, that much was true, but it had felt nice being around his father like this. He was way too sentimental for his own good as it appeared. He spent not even a whole day with his father any yet he had grown attached to that man in some way or another. Well, no, not attached, that was definitely not the right word, was it?

"What are you doing here?" He did not know this voice and that was why Connor felt his whole body going stiff immediately. Of course, it was not just that he had not heard the voice before, but the tone, with which that voice addressed him – sharp and suspicious. He was not welcome, that he could sense clearly and yet Connor turned around to look at the man walking up to him after Connor had rounded the house of his father to see if Mrs. Tailor was perhaps home to let him in. The man was a lot taller than he was – of course, he was just a teen (a short one for that) – sported a black beard around his mouth and jaw and jet black hair that was slicked back neatly. He was a pencil pusher that Connor could see right on first glance. A man as stiff as a board! His spine was rigid, his whole posture daunting to Connor and his face spoke clearly of the distaste he felt for the boy.

However, Connor was no one to shy back in front of some stranger just because they did not like him. Oh-fucking-no. "I'm looking for my father." He growled and crossed his arms in front of him, while the man stepped even closer. His cheeks were blotched red in anger already and his eyes small like those of a pig, watery to say the least. Connor felt his hairs stand up on his whole body immediately. He could feel the hostility that was radiating from this man towards him, though he had no clue why this man detested him so much without knowing him even!

"Your father does not live here." The man stated with a sharp tone.

"He does!" Maybe he would not be so stubborn and just retreat from the land once and for all if it would not be for a man like this. No. This man hated his guts without reason and that was reason enough for Connor to be stubborn and annoying as fuck. "And who are you? What are you doing on my father's property?"

"That does not concern you." He growled. "So you are the little criminal that is trying to get Mr. Kenway to believe that you are his child so you can steal all his money, right?"

"I don’t try to steal anything!" Connor yelled and balled his fists.

Suddenly the man bolted forward and grabbed his neck. Connor's back slammed into one of the columns of the back porch of his father's veranda within an instant. "You little devil." The man hissed his face way too close to Connor's for his liking. "You are the son of this bitch, which tried to sneak into Mr. Kenway's life to have it easy, right?" Connor started kicking and squirming, but the grip of the man around his neck was like iron.

"Don’t talk about my mother like this!" Connor yet managed to hiss when his feet finally made contact with the man's left knee. Startled and in pain from the intensity of this kick the man tumbled backward and let go of him. Connor's knees felt like they were made of pudding when he was free at last again, but he managed to stay upright coughing and clutching at his poor neck. It was this moment when the man raised his hand to slap him for that kick when the stranger was startled yet again.

"CHARLES!"

So, it appeared as if Connor had just met Charles Lee, his father's right-hand man. Also, it seemed as if he had a grandfather who was a pirate. At least, that was what the old man told him after they got inside the house – just him and the old man because his father remained outside the house with the dimwit who was Charles fucking Lee.

He had still no clue how and why this situation escalated like this, but his neck was still hurting when he was inside with the man sitting on the large comfortable sofa while the old man started a fire in the fireplace, Connor adored so much. He did not care if his father was scolding this Charles Lee-guy or maybe even firing him. He was just angry and confused. Of course, Connor was no innocent little puppy. He got into fights before and even physical arguments with his best friend Kanen'tó:kon, but never in his life had someone grabbed his throat as if they wanted to choke him to death for no apparent reason. That was pure hatred against his person. Pure disgust. And Connor had no clue why he deserved something like this or _if_ he deserved something like this.

A warm hand was gently grabbing for his neck and Connor flinched immediately before he noticed that the old man crouched before him on the ground. When Haytham's father noticed that he had startled him, he took back his hand with a soft smile. "Are you still hurt?" He asked calmly and Connor nodded, though it hurt. "I'll get something for you. I'm sure Haytham has a cream or something like this for sore muscles." With that, he got back to his feet, but Connor finally found his speech again.

"So you are my grandfather." He simply stated with a slight frown and Edward Kenway grinned sheepishly (and maybe a bit proud too).

"Yes, I am." Edward grinned and Connor's frown just deepened. "Edward James Kenway at your service, head to the _E. Kenway and son Company_ , though it appears as if I might as well add an  _'s_ to the _son_ in this name now."

Connor paused for a moment and let this sink in. Unlike his own father, his grandfather seemed to have accepted him right away, without even needing proof or at least a compelling argument. "Aren't you a bit too told to wear your hair like that?" He then carefully asked and Edward started laughing and fell down next to him on the sofa. Connor felt his heart make a little jolt hearing that laughter before the big hand of his grandfather was ruffling through his hair as if it was the most normal thing.

\--------------------

Haytham had rarely ever felt protective over someone or something in his life. He did feel protective over his company. Reasonable, though. But never had he felt this way for another human being. Still, when he and his father went after the ruckus in his garden, he snapped. The only thing he had been able to see was his son's face scrunching up in pain and grabbing coughing for his neck. There was a part of him that only wanted to lunge at Charles and beat the living crap out of him for attacking his child. _His_ child.

Yet he did not. The animalistic instinct had not gotten the better of him. He was still able to control himself when his father took the boy inside and he remained with a clearly frightened Charles who still was foaming with rage. It appeared as if his right-hand man was torn between fear for his life or job (which was in his case one and the same) and his anger about the boy that was his boss's son. Clearly, Charles understood that what he did was wrong, attacking a fifteen-year-old child like this, but clearly, he did not care either about his wrongdoing. All he cared for was his boss's favor. Haytham knew this pretty well. He had always known what kind of individual Charles was and until now, it had never bothered him. But now his heart was pounding and his fists were clenched.

"So, what was all this about?" Haytham finally asked and just to calm his nerves and keep himself from punching Charles, he crossed his arms behind his back.

"I caught this savage checking out your place, Sir! I was sure he wanted to break in and demolish the house or steal anything that was of worth after he didn’t get you to buy into his lie about being your son!" Charles exclaimed and Haytham knew that he was honest about it. Charles really believed this. Haytham had never been a man tending to naiveté and he prided himself on having an overall good knowledge of the human nature. That was the sole reason why he believed Charles. He had never been lied to by Charles and he never regretted his trust that he had in this man, though Charles tended to act a little more aggressive for a while now (some might argue that was since Haytham got Shay as his secretary). Sometimes Charles liked to act a bit unfair towards people and to say that he was a bit racist was quite the understatement.

"He is my son." Haytham finally answered, after contemplating if he really should say this. "And you owe him an apology." He probably should not have said this. Now, when his rage slowly started to ebb off, he did not know anymore what came over him before, yet he was just glad he did not punch Charles. It was not as if he was not still angry. He really was and he did not even understand this kind of rage he was feeling right now. But this boy … Seeing this boy in pain because of one of Haytham's own closest friends! Ridiculous, really. He was not even able to pronounce this kid's name and yet he was almost going postal because of this kid.

"But Sir, I thought-"

"I was wrong. Now, Charles, I think it would be better if you would go now."

Haytham did not know what he expected when he entered his house, but what he got was the sound of laughter, hoarse and strained, but still laughter and for a moment he paused and listened.


	5. Chapter 5

"Is he gone?" The small voice of a young teenage boy sounded from the top of the staircase and when Haytham turned around to look for the owner of said voice, he detected the boy lurking around a corner of the upper hallway, peeking around it like some stealthy assassin. Sadly stealthy he was not so much. In fact, the boy, _his son_ , was really more like an elephant in a china shop for the most time. He was a teenager after all and still growing into his paws, though those paws were not that big yet. Every time Haytham looked at the boy, he was sure that he would soon grow over his head and that he meant in more than one way or form.

"Who?" Haytham asked with a sigh as he discarded his coat and hung it onto the coat rag, not craning his poor strained neck again to look at the petulant teenager and risking even more pain in his neck like this.

" _You know who_!" The boy exclaimed but gave his best to keep his voice down so he would not attract and further attention before he almost whispered the magic words that surely burned his tongue every time he said them for his voice always came out as a hiss. "Charles Lee!"

"I don’t talk to you as long as there is a flight of stairs dividing us." Haytham sighed and walked towards the living room. He was desperate for a cup of tea and the evening news, while snow was silently sugaring the world outside his fortress. It was December and his birthday right around the corner. He could only hope that no one (especially not his father) would make a big deal out of it but knowing who his father was, that was surely forlorn hope. Now he just got another maniac running around his house, being oh so very similar to his father in all those annoying little ways.

It took a moment - the exact amount of time Haytham needed to get from the hallway to his most beloved armchair and to sat down in front of his large plasma TV - before he heard the sneaking steps coming down the stairs like an elephant trying to dance ballet.

"So… Is he gone now?" The boy asked again quietly when he entered the room.

"Yes, Connor." Haytham moaned and turned on the TV. There was silence for a moment before the boy wandered through the shuffled trough the sofa, dragging his feet. Haytham hated this habit of his son, but he knew there was no use in correcting this kind of behavior. He had tried it before and he had failed miserably. "So why do you even hate Charles that much? He apologized for the thing _back then_." _Back then_ meant the day when his good friend Charles decided that he would choke his son. Of course, he had not let it go so easily without repercussions for Charles.

"He's the devil."

"Weird, that’s exactly what he says about you." Haytham replied and did not even have the decency to even look at his son. Oh no. That little imp could come closer if he really wanted something - something other than to discredit Charles, that was.

"Maybe, but unlike him, I am right about it." Connor declared and jumped onto the sofa near the armchair Haytham had rested his exhausted bones on. Well. The boy was full of energy, that he had already learned by now – especially when the boy had too much time on his hands and nothing to do. It was not long since Haytham decided to let the boy stay at his place, but since then Connor already managed to destroy painfully expensive vases and other various things in his garden without even trying. He was much like a puppy, only that he was not peeing on the floor. Not yet at least.

Haytham only cocked one eyebrow, but then looked at the TV to listen to the news talking about some finance crisis in Europe again. He really tried to listen to the news and understand what was being said there, but sadly he did not manage to and that was because of his infamous son, now hanging head down from the sofa.

"What's wrong?" He sighed deeply. Well, if someone were to ask Haytham, the boy would not have any reason to say that _anything_ was wrong at all. He had a roof over his head and food in his belly. He had a warm home and a nice room and-

"I'm bored." The boy moaned.

"Well, why are you not hanging around with your friends then? Surely you must have found friends by now." To Haytham it was still marvelous how fast all that happened and how easy it had been to find a new school for Connor. He would have let him visit his old school too, but it was so far away from here that it would not have been very clever to maintain this arrangement. Maybe a part of him did not want Connor to meet up with his people anymore too. Maybe he was selfish like that, but Connor never protested against the decision of leaving behind his tribe like this. They never really spoke about his tribe and his remaining family, but he was sure that the boy had had a very good reason why he ran away to find him and not went home after Haytham first sent him away.

Connor was making a face.

"Have you not?" Haytham asked clearly surprised and raised his brows. Well, of course, Connor was maybe not the easiest person to be around from most of the time (not to say that he was a real pain in the ass), with his often stoic demeanor and his snarky remarks, but he could not come up with any reason why his son would not have found friends already. After all, he was visiting his new school for almost two months now!

He was still not answering, but hanging head down from the sofa like a bat. His eyes tried their best not to look at his father, but then finally the boy decided to break his silence again. "I don’t like the new school."

\--------------------

Connor was never one to be easily scared away by other people. But he also was not so very fond of most people. Growing up in a rather secluded place like his village made him suspicious of most outsiders and he knew that this was exactly the core thought about growing up in a village as Kanatahséton. Making their kids suspicious of the outside world was the intended purpose of this village, no matter that his people were working in the big city to earn money to make a good life. Many of the others were quite rich, Connor knew that perfectly well, and yet they were living in their little wooden cabins at the lake. Most of those that were rich tried not to show it because they profited greatly from the hunters, fishers, and farmers of their community and only thanks to them and their way of sharing and trading goods with each other and the rest of their community, they could sustain their wealth. Connor had managed to see through this quite early in his life, at the latest when he noticed one of the men getting into a Bentley to drive to work only to beg his neighbor to share his food when he came home again. He did not like it. His grandmother always said that her people had been corrupted by the western world and that was why she was staying exclusively in the village.

That was not the right way, which was also something Connor knew for sure.

Hiding from the outside world would not benefit anyone, but educating their kids about the temptations of the modern civilization would. Moreover, it was not as if they would live like their ancestors anyway. They did have electricity and modern technology, yet they condemned what the civilization of the _white men_ , such as his father, brought them to make the little things in life easier. Well … it was madness, and Connor had always had a hard time wrapping his mind around all this.

Being brought up suspicious to the outside world brought many problems with it, that was for sure because suddenly Connor was being thrown right into the outside world with all its temptations and dangers and he was confused. He had liked the little school he visited before with his best (and only) friend Kanen'tó:kon, but now he was far away from home and-

A snowball hit the back at his head so hard that Connor almost lost his balance in surprise and confusion. Behind him, a group of boys was laughing. "Ey savage-boy! Did you finally take a shower?" One of the boys bellowed at him, but Connor walked on again, burying his hands into the pockets of his black woolen coat his father bought him when they got the uniform the students of his school needed to wear. It was of no use to put up a fight, he guessed, after all, his father said that their life together was just a trial for now and he did not want to give him a reason to send him back home again, just because he was a troublemaker – which he was not.

It was not as if those insults were new to him anyway. He had heard worse in his life for sure and yet it hurt and he felt his feet quicken. He just wanted to vanish into the classroom and try to not attract any attention. After he moved in with his father, he had not really thought that much about what it would mean to change schools too. It made sense to him to change to be closer to the house of his father and a part of him welcomed the thought of not being around members of his tribe any longer. But now he was here and he didn’t belong here.

 _Home_ was a really weird word. He never really referred to Kanatahséton as his _home_ , but also the house of his father seemed not to fit this word. He thought (he hoped) it would be more clear when he started living with his father, but it was not.

The other kids did not hold back in letting him feel that he did not belong. They used every little opportunity to shame him or mock him, mostly with his name during the days. He was Connor Kenway now, but on his first day in school, he had forgotten that fact and introduced himself with his real name. _Connor_ was the name his mother gave him to make it easier for the outsiders and because the government required a normal name when they registered children. _Connor_ was written on his birth certificate as his middle name and yet he did not feel like Connor and with every day out here he felt less and less like _Ratonhnhaké:ton_ too.

Yet another snowball hit him hard on the head when he later sat down on a small bench on the schoolyard as the bell had rung for the lunch-break. He liked staying outside, mostly to avoid the bullies and he never liked going to the cafeteria to eat, no matter how cold it was. Mrs. Tailor made sure that he would always have a lunchbox with him and he loved her cooking. She took good care of him and he liked her greatly. He liked his father too, but it was quite hard to get to know him and his father always seemed to avoid being around him. Two months had passed since he moved in with him and now Christmas was right around the corner, but he felt all the more like an unwanted burden, especially since his grandfather travelled back to the US with the promise (his father called it a threat) to come back for the holidays and then look for a house nearby so that he would be near his grandchild.

In the beginning, his father had sometimes picked him up after work, but now he was hardly ever home because he was working overtime most days. Sometimes he would send Shay to pick him up, though. Apparently, his father did not like it, when his son would need to take the bus back home, he sometimes even dropped him off – but mostly Shay did that. Connor had decided that he did not really understand the relationship between his father and Shay. Shay was his secretary and apparently his most trusted companion (except for Charles fucking Lee), but he was doing chores like picking up or dropping off his boss's son too!

However, back to the snowball, that had hit his head. Connor was so startled he dropped his lunchbox right into the snow, the bloody thing burst open and spilled its contents onto the ground. Well, adieu delicious tuna sandwich he loved so dearly. Furious he turned his head to the aggressor that had done the deed, but he still felt reluctant to do something about this whole situation. He did not want to get into a fight!

Apparently, it was not really necessary, for another boy suddenly stepped in, as Connor noticed the group of bullies standing around at the corner of the building, laughing their little asses off. "Hey! What are you doing, you fuckheads?" The other boy yelled at the group of bullies after he apparently climbed out of a classroom window. Something about him told Connor that he just managed to escape detention. He was a bit taller than he was (but that was not all that hard, for Connor was quite short still), thin, but undoubtedly athletic and apparently at least one year older than him. He had short brown hair and was wearing a hoodie instead of his uniform jacket. His face spoke of determination even in the eye of danger.

The bullies looked at him puzzled and at least two of the three boys turned pale immediately, the third one, though, a tall blonde guy, did not waver. "We just thought we teach the savage boy what a snowball fight is!" The blonde guy exclaimed immediately and put his hands on his hips as he stepped a little forward towards the dark haired boy. Connor was quite sure that he had seen the boy before and he was sure that he had mostly seen him doing stupid things or lounging around somewhere where he surely was not supposed to be. "Do you have a fucking problem with that, Miles?"

"I do actually, Cross." The boy snarled, crossing his arms in front of his chest and suddenly Connor felt as if he was witnessing a showdown like those that were always shown in western movies.

"So? Are you his babysitter now? Well, I always suspected that you like to suck dicks. I guess he is your type, isn’t he?"

Whoever this Miles-boy was, he had a really short fuse, because that alone sufficed to make him lunge at the blonde guy. Connor was surprised, to say the least, and for a moment, he just sat there and watched the two boys fight, throwing punches at each other, screaming and yelling like two angry tomcats fighting for a territory, but as soon as he noticed how the other two boys wanted to help their friend, Connor jumped from the bench and came to the boy's aid.

\--------------------

When Haytham had taken his son in, he had not expected that this would mean he would get a call from his school at one point, because apparently, his son had started a fistfight. He expected Connor to be trouble when he first met him and he expected that it would not always be easy with this ridiculous child, but Connor did not seem like a person who started fights for no explicable reason. The phone call had interrupted him right in the middle of an important meeting and since he could not just send Shay to take care of the situation at hand, it seemed he had no other choice than to go himself, foaming with rage.

He had never felt more ridiculous than right in this moment when he needed to postpone the meeting just because he needed to take care of his son's escapades, and thus risked a contract to be formed between him and his hypothetical new business partner. He would have never thought that he would be a father that would be called by the principal of a school like this! _His_ father had never been called by his teachers! _His_ father had never been ordered to come to his school because _he_ had caused trouble!

Then again, _his_ father would have probably been proud to hear his _lad_ had gotten into a fistfight. _Haytham_ , on the other hand, was not at all proud. He was furious.

When he arrived at the school most students were already gone with exception of those who were still in detention. Haytham strolled through the long hallways of the private school and felt immediately that those American private schools could not even nearly reach the potential that British private schools had. Well, surely most Americans would think different about it and that only told Haytham of their mediocre level of education.

He reached the principal's office in no time at all, after there were more than enough signs leading the way towards the room most students fear to enter. He, on the other hand, did not fear the principal and why should he? _He_ was not the little criminal! He had nothing to fear, but Connor - _yes_ , Connor had a lot coming. Haytham surely was no parent who would always take the side of his child and he was quite sure that Ziio hadn't been like this too. He simply could not imagine Ziio to be that kind of mother who would gang up with her child against a teacher or the school in itself like most parents nowadays did.

He knocked briefly and hard, making his anger very apparent before he barged into the office without waiting for affirmation. The principal, a grey-haired, middle-aged man sat behind his large wooden desk (very classy) and looked straight at the two boys, who sat on the other side of the desk. His eyes were like steel and only shortly he glanced at Haytham before he looked at the boys again. His beard made him a lot older than he actually was.

"Principal Miles, I came as quickly as I could." Haytham stated dryly when he closed the door behind his back again and slowly walked towards the boys, only to stop right behind his son. Connor did not even look at him or turned his head but Haytham could see how he lowered his chin a bit as if he had heard the sharpness and not so very hidden anger in his father's voice.

"Haytham." William Miles greeted him quietly. They were not so very fond of each other, but that did not make any difference in the current situation and the both of them knew this. He was a bit surprised when he recognized the boy sitting beside his son, though.

"Desmond. We haven't met for a while." Haytham greeted the dark haired boy, but Desmond only snarled at him and leaned back more in his chair, making it very clear what he thought of this situation judging by the way he was slumping down in his chair. Well, he was sixteen … His behavior was _normal_ , Haytham guessed. "What happened?"

But before Bill could explain the situation to him, it was Desmond who spoke up. "Daniel and his friends attacked Connor!" He growled. "He started the fight, not us! But of coooooourse _we_ are the ones being held responsible and not the fucking rich kid!"

It was futile to tell Desmond that most of the students in this school were _fucking rich kids_. "You were attacked?" Haytham turned to Connor, but the boy still preferred not to look up and Haytham still was not able to see his face clearly.

"Daniel will get punished if it is true what you told me, Desmond, but for now he is in the hospital after you two attacked him." It seemed his son was a lot stronger than Haytham had originally thought because judging by what Bill then told him afterward, it had been Connor's punch that had sent Daniel Cross straight to the hospital. A broken nose and a fractured jaw. Well, of course, Daniel would get back to his feet soon, but still, he had been severely injured by his son and for that Haytham needed to punish him no matter the (apparent) fact, that Daniel and his friends had bullied his son.

Haytham was still foaming with rage when they drove back home. Connor had not said a word, not even when Bill asked him to speak up and explain what had happened. He was still silent when they were sitting side by side in the car, driving through the darkness that was slowly conquering the city. When they left behind the lights of Boston, Haytham turned his face towards Connor again. "I hope you are aware that you are grounded." Haytham stated, before looking straight ahead again. "I am very disappointed in you. A true Kenway does not behave like this. You really made me feel ashamed today, Connor. Bill Miles is no friend of mine anyway and now you teamed up with his jerk of a son and severely hurt another child. Truly, Connor, I am very, very angry and disappointed." Haytham was quite proud of himself. He had not much experience (some would say _no_ experience at all) in parenting, but he was quite proud of the way his scolding now turned out. He had made his statement and now Connor would think about it and start to regret. Surely he would never do something like this again and-

"I'm no true Kenway anyway." It was more a very quiet mumble than anything else, while Connor slumped down more and more in his seat, his eyes cast down, but in the bright light of the headlights of another car, he could see moisture glistening on the boy's cheeks. Was he really crying? "Why do you even care? If I am that much of a burden, why bother with me anyway?"

Well, apparently lecturing a child was not as easy as he would have thought it was. "What do you mean?" Haytham asked, but he could already feel a thick lump somewhere … somewhere in his chest. He couldn’t quite locate the spot yet.

"Nothing." Connor then hissed and angrily rubbed over his cheeks, before he pulled the hood of his coat over his head with a dark frown on his face.

"Connor."

"Nothing! Just leave me alone already, okay? I don’t wanna talk to you!"

"Well, as long as you are living in _my_ house you will talk to me!"

"Maybe I should go back then!" Connor growled. "Maybe I should go back to my tribe then!"

"Yes, maybe you should do that!" By now Haytham was sure that he would regret having said those words because knowing his son, Connor would not hesitate to do as he just said. He wanted to take the words back, looking at his son out of the corner of his eyes, but then he did not, instead he was maneuvering his black car into the darkness of the approaching night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I saw the trailer of AC 3 with Pitcairn I hated that disgusting slimeball. So ... Yeah ... Sorry?

The fourth of December was one busy day in the house of Haytham E. Kenway and while downstairs the adults were feasting with cocktails and drinks and finger food (like fancy adults were meant to), upstairs Connor had sought out refuge in his room. "Wow, your room is actually pretty weak. I thought you guys were rich." Desmond snorted when he slumped down on his bed as if it was indeed his own place and Connor could not help but to roll his eyes at this snarky remark. His room was not really the dream of a teenage boy, he guessed. It was still the guest bedroom in the eyes of his father - and in his own eyes too. His new clothes were hanging in the closet and he got his plush wolf sitting on his bed. That was all. He did not really feel comfortable in this room as it was now, but since he and his father were not getting along so well, it was everything he got for now. Maybe, if he would ask him to maybe paint the walls in a warmer color (right now they were plain white) or change the furniture just a bit to make the place more his own, his father would agree to that.

"My dad still sees this as a trial." Connor sighed and climbed onto the windowsill to rest his back against the cold glass, while he could hear the laughter of all those strangers from downstairs through the floorboards. At least they had fun it seemed. Of course, Desmond and he were supposed to be down there too, but this party seemed to be no place for _children_. "He just waits for a mistake that I make so he can send me back to my tribe. I'm surprised he hasn’t done it yet after what happened in school the other day."

"That was sick, Connor!" Desmond finally grinned. He came to like Desmond Miles greatly. He was the only friend he now had at this new school and Desmond seemed to be just the outcast that he was and simply for being the principal's son. Though the main difference between them was, that Desmond had chosen to be an outcast. "Thanks again for helping me out that day."

Connor waved at him dismissively, after all, it had been Desmond who came to his aid that day and what kind of a person would he be if he would not have helped him against those assholes? "I don’t get why my father invited you and your dad over. I thought they would hate each other's guts."

"Well, they do actually." Desmond grinned. "But you know how it is with family and all this stuff, right? You can't choose who belongs to your family; you can only take them as they are." He snickered.

It had turned out that William Miles was the cousin of his father. It seemed like Grandma Tessa (which Connor would never meet sadly) had had a sister in America, _Grandma Miles_ , as Desmond called her. He seemed to be not so very fond of the old lady, judging by the way Desmond normally talked about her, often referring to her as a _war machine_ \- whatever that was supposed to mean.

"But why?"

"Well, first of all, my dad is an asshole and yours seems to be no exception." Desmond shrugged his shoulders but got way too comfortable on his bed. "My dad is still a hippie at heart, you know? He hates what your father's company does to the oceans. First, he didn’t even want to accept you into his school, but my mother caused him to overthink that and now he acts like he deserves a gold medal for putting up with a Kenway in his precious school."

"I hate it here." Connor finally sighed. "My father avoids me at all costs every day. Why did he even take me in then?"

"Don’t know, but I know what you mean, my dad is no different." He sighed. "But I don’t need to put off with this much longer anyway."

"What do you mean?" Connor enquired with big eyes when he looked at his relative again.

"Well, I'm planning on going to New York City soon. I'm sixteen now, so why shouldn’t I? You can come with if you'd like."

The thought remained in his head for the rest of the night, no matter if he would have liked to admit to it or not and it remained there even during the next days. Every time he found himself in his father's company he suddenly could not help but to wonder if the old man would miss him if he would suddenly just vanish, but after all, this right here had been a matter of time anyway, right? This had never been an arrangement that was meant to last forever, at least not in his father's eyes. His father, Haytham, surely just waited for another mistake of him, for another reason to finally get rid of the nosy brat he managed to adopt into his home.

"Dad?" The way Haytham's left eye started twitching filled him not with satisfaction this time. He knew that his father hated it to be called _Dad_ ; he liked the term _father_ better, so it was only natural for the fifteen-year-old Connor to call him _Dad_. At least he got Haytham's attention like this when his father put down the newspapers to look at him. "Why did you never tell me about William and Desmond?" He then carefully inquired, but Haytham only huffed in annoyance.

"You make it sound as if I kept this a secret for years from you." He stated dryly.

"No … Of course not, but I mean, after all, you sent me to William's school and all. You could've told me. After all, William is my… Great cousin? We are family, is what I meant to say." By the word _family,_ Haytham's left eye twitched again. Clearly, he did not consider the Miles as family.

"We cannot choose the family we are born into, Connor. We can only make a new one to our liking." He stated. "And I would prefer it if you would stay away from Desmond Miles. This child has nothing good coming for him."  That was his father's answer to anything, Connor guessed. Person X, Y, and Z had nothing good coming for them, so he better stayed away from them, no matter if they might be good people. Connor was growing tired of this. He even said this about his own father, Connor's grandfather! Well … Maybe he was right about his grandfather, but surely not with his new best friend Desmond, right?

"You should have told me, though." Connor murmured, sliding down the backrest of the sofa until he lay there on his stomach. He was bored to death in this house. Of course, his father had a vast collection of books, mainly about the American revolutionary war and the Boston tea party, but he could not bring himself to pick even one of those books up. The world outside the window was now covered in thick snow, normally a sight of joy for the boy, but not so today, after his father seemingly thought his son would fall ill even by the sight of snow, forgetting the fact that Connor had been raised in the confinements of nature.

Haytham only snorted. "And you should have told me that you are being bullied. I would call that a tie."

A small part of him really wanted to think that his father was worried for him, but Connor had a very hard time believing that. "Did you like your present?" The boy then sighed, turning to his side. He had not been around when his father had opened his presents after he and Desmond had barricaded themselves into his bedroom. It had been a party where kids were not so much liked to have around - at least no one came looking for him and Desmond during the evening.

"I believe your grandfather gave you the idea." Haytham replied instead of answering, Connor only scowled.

"If you don’t like it, give it back." The boy simply murmured. " _I_ like it." And it had not been very pricey! It was too good for being wasted on a person that could not even appreciate it.

"I'm afraid that’s not possible, son." Haytham finally answered, raising the newspaper again to hide his face behind the bloody thing.

"Why not? Did you already throw it away?" Connor exclaimed with big eyes and honest surprise. Oh, he would not put it past his father to throw away his present!

"No, I already ate it."

\-----------------

"I am not so sure about this grandpa." Connor informed the old man at his side when they stopped in front of the patisserie. His grandpa had arrived this morning and his first act of authority as a loving grandfather during his stay in Boston had been picking up his grandchild from school a bit earlier than usually to go shopping with him.

"Trust me, lad, he will like it."

It was not very easy to trust a man like his grandfather. It was not that he would have ever lied to him, but he was an imp and always seemed to have something on his mind to cause trouble. Connor always half-heartedly expected the police driving up to them arresting his grandfather on the spot when they were rummaging through town.  But no he wanted to try and trust him in that matter, after all, his grandpa knew his father better and longer than Connor did, right? Surely he must know what he liked in terms of chocolate.

In front of him in the window of the patisserie was a ship made of dark chocolate. It was beautifully made and almost too beautifully to be eaten with all its delicately crafted details. "Okay." Connor finally sighed. "But if he doesn’t like it I will eat it myself."

\-----------------

"Bill called me." This was the first thing Connor had to hear when he later arrived at the house. No one had come to pick him up today, very probably because of the detention he had sat in for what seemed to have been hours. Mrs. Taylor was gone by now surely and the kitchen was dark and cold. There was light coming from the living room, though, from where his father sat, clearly angry at him. A part of him just wanted to vanish up the stairs, but instead, he straightened his spine and walked to the living room door. "You got into trouble again he said."

"Yes, Sir." Connor sighed. "I-"

"I don’t want to hear why you got yourself into trouble once again, Connor! It’s the third time this week and I am getting tired of this ridiculous behavior of yours!"

"But Desmond-"

"I said you should stay away from this boy, haven't I?" Haytham growled without even looking at his boy and Connor was thankful that he did not. He was hurt by the sharpness of his father's voice and by the clearly disappointed tone. His father seemed always been disappointed with his failure of a son. He should never have come here. He should have just run away to … Well, to where? Suddenly New York sounded more and more appealing to him. Suddenly New York sounded like a place to forget about his past and to leave everything behind him.

"But Dad I-"

"You are grounded. Go to your room I don’t want to see you down here tonight and since you got yourself into detention today _again_ , you missed supper. Maybe that will manage to teach you manners and get through your thick skull." Connor felt his eyes burning with frustration and anger when he ran up the stairs and slammed his door shut. It was unfair! He had not done anything wrong but, of course, his father would not want to listen to him would he? He never listened.

He did not want to hear anything about those bullies he needed to endure in school or about the teachers treating him like an animal. He would say he needed to grow up and learn to fight back and not whine about it. He needed to learn to face those who treated him unfairly. Still, when Connor later crawled into his bed, he could not stifle a small sob, clenching his damaged hands. This time, the teacher had hit him harder than the last time and his poor fingers still hurt every time he moved them for the ruler had hit so hard Connor had been almost positive he would break bones.

Mr. Johnson was his most reasonable teacher. He was teaching history and whenever he was not talking about war, after war, after war, his lectures were quite interesting, though sometimes embarrassing to Connor. It appeared that Mr. Johnson had a great fascination for the native tribes and even married a native woman. During his first lesson with him, Mr. Johnson decided that Connor's arrival in his class meant the perfect opportunity to pause the topic of the Boston tea party to interrupt it with a short lesson about the Native Americans during this time. Connor, being the expert, had been welcomed to talk about it as if he had been there himself. It was forlorn hope telling Mr. Johnson that he had in fact not been there. After this, most students had mocked him even harder, mainly because of Mr. Johnson making Connor explain how to pronounce his name right for at least ten minutes (even though it felt like weeks), just so the other students could call him _RatuhnhaGAYdon_ from then on.

"He hates me." Connor concluded quietly when he sat down on the roof. Desmond knew the perfect places to be quite undisturbed in this school and for that knowledge Connor was grateful. Now he had the chance of sitting on the cold stone in a rather wind-protected corner of the roof and was only risking a bladder infection like this. Desmond seemed not to care when he sat down crossed legged in front of him and pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

"Of course he does, Mr. Pitcairn hates absolutely every student that has a different skin color." Desmond chuckled and ignited his first cigarette. Connor did not like that he was already smoking, but he did not hate it either. It was Desmond's choice after all.

"I actually meant my father." Connor replied with a sour face while Desmond was inhaling deeply and blew the smoke into the brisk air around them.

"Yes, he does too I assume. Haytham is just like my dad, that’s why they can't stand each other. And just as my father is an absolute asshole your father is too. They are just power-hungry dickheads. That’s why I want to run away!" Desmond reminded him again of his plan with a grin, though somehow Connor doubted that Desmond was as serious about this whole situation as he claimed.

"So what's your plan then?" Connor sighed deeply annoyed with his relative. It was not like he had hoped for affirmation that his father did indeed love him, not while talking to a boy like Desmond with his own _daddy issues_ , but still…

"Well, I know a guy in New York. I can live with him until I found my own place."

"You are sixteen, Desmond! You cannot rent your own place, you have no money!"

"Yes, but I will have! I'll start working as a bartender in New York; I bet there are more than enough bars for me to learn when I say them that I'm already eighteen. Other than this I'll turn seventeen next March, so … Yes, that way the lie is not all too big, right?" He guesses that made sense in Desmond's brain.

"Yes, it still is!"

"Well, nobody forces you to come with me then, dear Sir." Desmond groaned and blew a bit of smoke right at Connor's face. He only grunted and bit back a small cough.

"Fine, I don’t want to anyway." He grumbled and crossed his arms in front of his chest before he glanced at the cigarettes again. "Can I try one?"

Mr. Pitcairn stared at him from his desk like an especially bloodthirsty bat and by now that was nothing new for Connor anymore, though he knew what that normally meant. It wasn’t as though Mr. Pitcairn could do anything especially terrible to him anyway, nothing harsher than the occasional hit across the knuckles or the palm of his hand with a ruler. Mr. Pitcairn might be an especially cruel and vicious individual most of the times, but at least his respect for the school's rules and Mr. Miles authority held him back most of the times. Therefore, while Connor felt excluded and vilified whilst in the man’s classroom most days (well really every day), he was sure not to be in any real danger. After all, the headmaster was his relative and thus surely kept an eye on him at least somewhat. Though Desmond was quite right, both headmaster Miles and his father were bullheaded creatures and never wanted to hear any explanation for him getting into trouble. After the incident with Cross, he and Desmond had been convicted to one week worth of detention and blackboard duty.

Today though was different. He had not been deliberately trying to provoke Mr. Pitcairn in any way today (not that he would have ever done something like that before), but he could simply not prevent the occasional insolent comment slipping out every now and then and blamed Desmond's bad influence greatly for that, after all, he even smoked because of him! Well, that was hardly fair. But today everything seemed to be different. For some reason, Mr. Pitcairn did not seem infuriated or even displeased with him like he normally did. He did no more but shoot Connor a look of venomous satisfaction, promising of later retribution, accompanied by the occasional racist remarks in his general direction. However, though Connor put more effort into keeping his head down afterward, as soon as the bell rang and the other students began to pack up and leave, Connor was immediately called up to Mr. Pitcairn's desk.

"I believe you have one class left after the break, right?" Mr. Pitcairn asked in an almost butter soft voice and Connor nodded sharply.

"PE." He answered calmly; well at least he tried to sound calm.

"I'll see you by the end of the break in my office." Pitcairn announced with just the hint of vicious amusement to his voice.

"But, Sir-"

"I let Mr. Adams know that you will be a bit late." Mr. Pitcairn replied and was still missing the usual sharpness to his voice. No, he was enjoying this. Connor was sure Mr. Pitcairn was not handing in a note to Mr. Adams. He was sure he would get into even more trouble with his very stern PE teacher for being late because Pitcairn wanted it like that. But Connor bit back the remark that they could settle things right away during his lunch break instead and just nodded shortly again.

"Don’t be late, unless you intend to worsen your punishment for today's insolence."

He wanted to protest, to say that he had done nothing wrong today, but Connor already knew that it was futile.

As the end of the lunch break drew closer and with that the punishment he was awaiting, Connor found himself feeling quite nervous about what this punishment could possibly entail. He had not had the nerves of getting anything down of his lunch and had just given it to Desmond who apparently had no lunch packed for the day. He was fairly certain there were regulations as to what Mr. Pitcairn could actually do to him, but his nervousness and anxiety still remained. After all, Mr. Pitcairn knew reservations when it came to him. He could have asked Desmond about it, but a part of him was too proud to even mention the punishment that he was awaiting once more.

By the time he reached the door to Pitcairn's office his heart was thudding in his chest. Connor knocked hesitantly and waited until he could hear Pitcairn bark from inside the room that he should come in and when it came he would rather run, but yet Connor opened the door and slipped inside, keeping his eyes focused on the floor.

"Look at this, the little savage can tell the time. So I believe you know why you are here right?" Pitcairn was not seated at his desk like he had expected, instead, he was already standing in the room with the ruler in his hand he liked to slam down on the knuckles of misbehaving students.

"No, I don’t." Connor murmured and still kept his gaze to the ground. He just wanted to get it over with.

"So then you have not broken the school rules with not only entering the roof without permission but have been also caught smoking?" Connor gulped. So someone had seen them sneaking onto the roof then - or had Desmond betrayed him at last? No matter what it was Connor knew that it would not help him to deny all that, so he nodded reluctantly.

"No, you have not?" Pitcairn asked with feigned surprise.

"Yes, I have done as you said." Connor slowly admitted.

"Excellent. Well, you do know that I absolutely hate it when my students take forever to answer one simple question, thus you will earn ten more." Connor furrowed his brows in confusion, but he did not ask what he meant when Pitcairn let his ruler bounce against the palm of his left hand with a distinctive slap. He surely would break bones this time.

"So? No words of defense then?" He snorted and the ruler was again snapping sharply against his hand.

"No, Sir." Connor said as politely as possible, though his determination to stay calm slowly started to waver.

“Just as I thought. All it takes is a strong hand and a severe punishment to keep a beast like you in line, doesn’t it?” His voice was dripping with satisfaction.

“Yes, Sir.” He bit back a growl.

"Now things will be a bit different today since the usual punishment seems not to be enough to get through that thick skull of yours. You’ve enjoyed my mercy for long enough I think. If you would be so friendly and take off your trousers then?"

"What?" Connor hissed in surprise and stared at Pitcairn as if he had just lost his mind.

"Trousers _off_.”  The teacher repeated his order and this time Connor was sure that he had heard him correctly. A part of him wanted to make a scene, but then again he just wanted to get it over with. After all, how painful could it really be? Walking further into the room, Connor stopped in front of the desk, unbuckling his belt and letting his trousers and then his underwear fall to the floor. Well, until now it was not painful but incredibly humiliating.

“Very good,” Mr. Pitcairn commented. “I suppose even an animal such as you are, is able to follow simple orders just like this one, right?"

Connor said nothing, though his skin crawled to be so unprotected against Pitcairn's cold stare. He could feel that the man was inspecting him thoroughly and he could sense that he was enjoying this. He was enjoying seeing Connor so humiliated and small, did he not? "Hands on the desk please." Pitcairn instructed and Connor followed the order. Suddenly he felt incredibly small and vulnerable in his a bit too big dress shirt and jacket, for he was not able to fill the jackets and dress shirts of the most boys his age yet. He wanted to vomit, while he placed shaking fingers onto the table top and pressed them as firmly as he could onto the surface if only so Pitcairn would not notice how much he was trembling. It was not so much fear as it was disgust for the way he was looking at him.

“Do you want me to count, Sir?” He asked quietly if only to interrupt the silence. Silence he could not stand right now.

“I wouldn’t expect you to know how. Stay silent and face the front.” Pitcairn snarled and Connor did so and braced himself for the first strike.

It did not come. Instead, he yelped in sudden pain and surprise as Mr. Pitcairn's curious hand shot between his legs and grabbed his genitalia like he was but a dog that was being inspected. He was nearly crushing this oh so tender part of his body without mercy or even empathy. "I always thought wildlings such as you would have a more impressive thing dangling between their legs. You really are just a half-breed it seems." With that he let go of him as fast as he had grabbed him, but it still hurt and Connor was mortified, but he could not bring himself so say something, only pressed his lips into a thin line and listened to Pitcairn taking a few steps back again. Then, finally the first blow came and he was not prepared for it. It _hurt_.

He was determined not to give Pitcairn the satisfaction of knowing that he had hurt him, but no determination could Connor stop from gasping in pain as the ruler whipped across his naked bum with a merciless crack. Connor was counting the hits in his head out of pure desperation and to fill the vast empty space in his head with _something_. By the time they had reached twenty, he was sure that Pitcairn would not stop before either the ruler would break in half or by the time his backside was flayed raw and bloody. He bit down on his bottom lip until it bled, remaining silent through the relentless ordeal as best he could except for the occasional gasps.

Through this whole ordeal, Mr. Pitcairn was showing an unfortunate bias for accuracy (not that this would really surprise Connor about the man) as his strikes overlapped almost unerringly, while Connor was still counting. The voice in his head was now a loud screeching to drown the white pain that started to fill his head. _Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty_. And finally, a loud crack and then silence. It took Connor a moment until he realized that it had been in fact the ruler breaking.

But, at last, it stopped.

Connor was almost delirious with pain and if it were not for the sudden silence that was so loud in his ears after the slapping sound had been so venomous before that it had filled his mind entirely, he would have not even registered, that Pitcairn had stopped. “Now get out,” Pitcairn snarled furiously. "You don’t want to be late for PE, do you?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Connor!" Desmond exclaimed but immediately Connor shushed him with an annoyed and slightly panicked _"Psssssssht"_. "Connor! That’s really not okay!" Desmond lowered his voice finally to a whisper. "That’s abuse! He _abused_ you!"

"No, he has not!" Connor hissed, but he was not even able to move properly any longer. However, _abuse_ was such a big word … He had just been caned, right?

"Yes, he has!" Desmond hissed and glanced over his shoulder. The other boys were just leaving the locker room, while Connor was still in his towel waiting to get into the showers after PE. It happened from time to time that Connor and Desmond's class had PE together and today apparently was such a day. "You cannot even move properly!" With that, Desmond shoved him into the showers after making sure no one was around to see or listen in to their conversation when he pulled down the towel around Connor's narrow hips. "This could get infected! You need to tell someone!"

"No!" Connor yelped and grabbed his towel again to tie it around his naked hips again like a shield against unwanted eyes - Well, that was at least one of the many purposes of a towel he guessed. " _No"_ He repeated slowly, his frown dark when he looked at Desmond again. He never liked being naked in front of anyone, but he needed to shower now and Desmond did so too.

Mr. Adams had been furious when Connor finally arrived at the gym. Of course, Pitcairn had not handed in a notice that he would be a bit late and of course, that had only meant for Connor that he needed to exercise extra hard and a bit longer than the others kids. At one point, Connor had only wanted to lie down sobbing. He could hardly stand the pain when his pants met his wounded skin.

"You cannot keep this to yourself! Why did he even do it?" Desmond growled. Connor did not want to talk about this; he just wanted to forget, especially what had happened before the caning had begun. He was still not over this moment of shock when his teacher had grabbed his genitalia like this. He was still not sure about the meaning of all this. Had this meant to be sexual harassment? Well, surely, right? It was sexual harassment! However, he was not so much in shock because of that revelation, but because of the fact, how it had made him feel. Pitcairn liked to treat him like an animal, like a _beast_ , he had even said the word himself! And the way he had groped him clearly was as the people in old movies would grab a dog's genitalia! Maybe that was the worst part. In the eyes of his teacher, he was but an animal. "Connor!" Desmond growled again. "You need to tell this to your father! Pitcairn needs to be disciplined for that!"

"Just leave me alone, Desmond!" Connor finally hissed. "I don’t need your clever tips anymore!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Desmond frowned.

"That it's your fault I even got into this situation!"

"What?"

"Leave me alone!"

Desmond stayed just for a moment before he bared his teeth at him. "Fine." He then snarled and got into the shower himself. Connor on the other hand just left the room. He could shower at home. Surely, someone was waiting to pick him up.

\-------------

When Haytham leaned back in his armchair, he was well aware of the look his secretary shot him. It was rare that Shay would visit him at home, but today he did because Haytham needed to sign a few documents very urgently. No matter why Haytham was a bit glad that he was here now. "Sir, you seem to be a bit worried and stressed lately." Shay noticed, before handing him the documents.

"Is that any wonder to you?" Charles suddenly snarled, setting down his cup of tea. By now, the sun was slowly setting and Connor was not here yet. Well, of course not, after all, no one had driven to his school to pick him up and it was quite a journey with the bus. It was part of the punishment. "This boy of his is not really the most well behaved I would say. However, I guess that is just the way those wildlings raise their children. Now it is too late and the boy too old to be changed in his ways."

Haytham shot him a glare. He did not like those racist terms, but he was tired of correcting his friend. Of course, he had known back in the day that Charles had not liked Ziio, after the two of them had only briefly met and just as he had not liked Ziio, he now did not like Connor.

"Has he gotten into any more trouble?" Shay carefully asked, before sipping his tea. Haytham just focused on signing the documents to avoid speaking, but sadly, he could not avoid it forever - plus it could be considered as impolite and impoliteness clearly was no treat an English man should ever show to anyone, not even towards an Irish man.

"Yes. His principal just called me this morning. Apparently, this boy had been caught smoking on the roof of the school. So he broke two rules in just one day! I told Principal Miles that he should harden his punishment until the boy finally learns how to behave properly. By the love of god, I don’t even want to know how things had been handled in his old school!" Haytham sighed when he finally heard the front door.

\-------------

Sadly, no one came to pick him up today. Connor understood that only after he had waited an hour in front of the building. Normally his father - or respectively Shay - was very punctually when he came to pick him up or he would write him a message on his phone if he were running late. However, no message, no nothing and thus Connor could only assume that this was part of his punishment. Of course, it was and surely, his father knew already about his latest _insolence_. When he stood at the bus stop (of course he had just missed the bus home), he was not so sure if he should even drive home but to where could he go then? Surely, Desmond was angry with him now, so he could not even ask him to hide at his place.

"Kenway." A voice sounded right behind him and Connor flinched because of the vicious tone to the voice of his most hated teacher. Connor turned around but he could not bring himself to look at Pitcairn's face. Suddenly he really felt like an outsider, like the little Mohawk kid, that was pushed out into the world filled with dangerous white men. He did not know if caning was part of the normal punishment in schools! He did not know if Pitcairn had gone too far with his punishment. He simply had no clue! He had never been punished in his old school, at least no more than the occasional being forced to stand in a corner (the corner of shame, as they had called it) during the class. Maybe that was just the way the white people handled things in those elitist schools. "Are you deaf?" Pitcairn snarled. "It is not very polite to not look at someone when they are speaking to you, but I think no one ever taught you that in your village, right?"

Connor bit his tongue and clenched his jaw before he forced himself to look up, but the anger in his eyes he could not suppress - unfortunately.

"And what's with that look now, boy?" Pitcairn asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest, but his eyes clearly spoke of satisfaction. "Are you still feeling obstreperous?"

"No, Sir." Connor murmured, but of course, Pitcairn made a face as if he had not heard him alright.

"What was that?"

"No, Sir." Connor repeated a bit louder and clearer this time. The feeling of being humiliated was there again in all its glory.

"Well, you might find delight in the news that you will accompany me from now on every day of the remaining week for the continuation of your punishment. Headmaster Miles came to the conclusion, that you probably need some extra time at my office to really settle the message which your punishment shall deliver." Connor felt his guts twist and contort and his stomach turn even thinking about it, but yet he only choked out a: "Yes, Sir."

"Oh, I believe your bus is coming!" Mr. Pitcairn then chirped and only briefly Connor noticed that it was right then when not only the bus arrived, but also when Monsieur Dorian came their way and looked a bit suspicious at Pitcairn. "Why, hush, boy! Hurry up; surely you want to catch your bus!" Pitcairn then shooed him away, and again "Yes, Sir" was everything he managed to croak out before he hurried to the bus, while his mind was screaming in agony with each step. It was true, he could hardly move properly and the driver of the bus was already looking at him quite annoyed when Connor finally entered the vehicle.

Walking had been painful enough, but now sitting down was nearly unbearable and Connor was almost the whole time trying to find a position, which would not drive him insane, during the way too long drive home. It felt like hours, hours of him being made very aware of the annoyed or confused looks he got from the other passengers on the bus. However, when the bus finally stopped at the end of the road to his house Connor hurried to get off the bus immediately, happy to not been stared at any longer.

While the bus was driving off, Connor began his journey down the empty road towards his home. It was already getting dark, but he could see lights in the living room. Also, he spotted two more cars standing in the driveway of his father's house, while his father's car was parked in front of the garage like usually. One of the two cars he could recognize as the one Shay was usually driving. The license plate was customized and said _Morrigan_. When Connor opened the door, he could hear muffled voices from the living room. "By the love of god, I don’t even want to know how things had been handled in his old school!" He heard his father sighing before Connor closed the front door a bit louder than normally to announce his presence. He did not want to go into the living room to meet his father after he clearly had just spoken about him. For a moment, Connor just stood there, but then he heard the voice from his father yet again.

"Connor? Is that you? Would you mind coming in for a moment?"

Oh, this faked politeness! Connor was already tired of this British politeness after it reminded him so much of Mr. Pitcairn. Connor suppressed a deep sigh before he slowly moved on and walked up to the living room door, trying his best not to limp. Shay was sitting on the sofa and smiled at him friendly as he always did, his father sat on his beloved armchair facing the door when Connor stepped in the doorway and then there was-

"Lee." Connor growled. He simply could not help it! He could not! It was impossible to suppress the urge to growl the name when he saw the man! And Mr. Lee was glaring at him just as Connor was.

"Is it true that you have been caught smoking on the roof today?" Haytham asked and his voice was suddenly so cold it almost made him shiver. He wanted to say no, but it was not true. He wanted to say what had happened, so maybe his father would understand, but he knew that it was futile to even try. He could not talk to his father like to a normal human being. His father _wanted_ to be mad at him. He _wanted_ a reason to be angry with him.

"Yes, Sir." Connor then decided to murmur instead of lying or trying to explain.

He could see on his father's face that he wanted to yell at him, but held himself back, mainly because of his guests as it seemed. "I believe you have been made aware that you will be severely punished for that, right?"

He almost laughed. "Yes, Sir." Connor indeed hissed.

"Good. I talked to your principal, just to assure that your punishment will be more effectively this time. You cannot go on like this. I am really disappointed in you, Connor. Smoking, really-"

"Are you done?" Connor growled and was met with surprise in his father's face and anger in Charles's face.

"Show some respect, boy!" Lee hissed, but Connor did not even look at him because his eyes still rested on his father. He looked right about to murder his only child and make it look like an accident.

"Yes, son." Haytham then replied decidedly calm, though there was this distinct cutting edge to his voice when he spoke the word _son_ as if he really was about to grab the largest kitchen knife they possessed.

Connor turned around without another word and stomped up the stairs. He needed to get his clothes off! He needed to do something with his screaming backside. When the door of the bathroom was closed in his back, he made sure to lock it, though he normally did not. But now he wanted some privacy and as he had the privacy he yearned for since he had been beaten bloody, he immediately threw off his clothes and turned on the faucet of the bathtub, hoping a bath would help though he clearly doubted it, when he turned in front of the large mirror to have a look at his bum. He could see now what Desmond had meant before. His skin was broken, raw and bloody and he did not even dare to touch the bloody streaks.

It was not much later that Connor crawled into his bed, resting on his side to not put too much weight on his injuries, after he did his best to treat them with some ointment and put on his pajamas, no matter the pain that this meant.

Soon, after he rested his head tired on his pillow, he heard Shay and Charles leave and he was glad that his father had not forced him to have dinner with his guests too. Connor was tired, but he could not find sleep immediately as he normally did, instead he looked out of his window and watched the snow rippling silently to the ground. Thinking that he needed to walk into Pitcairn's office again, he felt his guts wrench and suddenly he felt like throwing up.

Just when he closed his eyes, the door of his room was being opened quietly. Connor really tried to fake sleep, but sadly, his father was not so easy to fool, as it seemed. "Connor?" Haytham asked walking into the room without switching on the light. There was enough light shining into the room from the hallway for him to find his way anyway. "Don’t you want to come down for dinner?" Haytham asked and normal parents would have a bit more tenderness to their voice asking something like this, his father on the other hand just sounded awkward.

"I'm not hungry." He murmured.

With a sigh, his father sat down on his mattress and placed his left hand gently on Connor's left hip. Connor did not mind because despite his awkwardness, the touch was very fatherly indeed. "Connor… It really can't go on like this any longer, don’t you agree?" Haytham gently asked. "Do you think I would find fun in punishing you?"

"No, Sir." Connor murmured out of a habit. He was tired of debating with his father. He just wanted to sleep.

"I'm sorry that you need to go through that punishment for the rest of this week, but I think it will benefit you in the long run. It seems as if your upbringing lacked discipline until now. I do not want to hurt you, son, but you will not get very far with this insolent behavior of yours. Next week the holidays will start and you have a lot of time to rest and think about everything."

"Pitcairn caned me." Connor croaked and for a moment, there was just silence, before there was a soft chuckle from behind him.

"Oh? That’s why you're so upset?" Haytham asked quietly but clearly amused. "Why, I did not know that they were still allowed to do that." He did not sound upset at all that someone had just beaten his son bloody! Wasn’t he supposed to be infuriated? Wasn’t he supposed to go and grab Pitcairn by his gray hair and punch his teeth in? "Well, but I think it won't hurt you. Maybe that’s still the most effective way to teach someone as bullheaded as you are some manners." He chuckled before he got up again. "I'll put you the leftovers in the microwave if you eventually decide you are hungry."

The next day started with agony and the feeling that his buttocks would rather stay in bed while he needed to get up and face the world. The problem was that he did not want to face the world. He wanted to stay right here where it was soft, warm, and almost safe from being caned again. However, Connor was - just as his father said - bullheaded and he did not want to give up so easily. He did not want to give Pitcairn the satisfaction of thinking that he had broken him already. And he did not want that his father thought that he was so weak that he rather hid in his bed than to face the world. Therefore, Connor did the only logical thing he could think of: He pulled his plush wolf against his chest, sighed deeply and then got up carefully. He did not waste time with having breakfast; instead, he just dressed in his uniform and left the house straight away. He did not want to meet his father right now. He did not want to say that he felt betrayed because he had not taken him seriously, but sadly, that was exactly how he felt when he got on the bus to drive to school again.

\--------------------

Since Haytham never really expected to be a father, after he and Ziio had broken up, he lacked experience when it came to raising a petulant teenager for sure. He was not even ashamed to admit this fact. He and Connor did not get along very well and by now he spent every day questioning his decision of adopting that pup into his home in the first place. Maybe they would be better off if he would live with his tribe again and if they would just meet on the weekends or birthdays.

"Sir?" Shay's voice brought him back to reality. "Is everything alright?" Shay knew him well, Haytham was aware of that and he was also aware that Shay could sense if his boss was overworking his brain about something that was not even worth his mental effort or time again. Well, but the real question was if Connor was in fact not worth the effort and time. Haytham leaned back in his chair with a deep, deep sigh and laid down the fountain pen he used to sign important documents with.

"To be honest, I don’t know." Haytham stated and yes, he admitted his _defeat_ to Shay in that nonchalant way. There were only very few people he would admit his defeat to, such as Charles and - well - Shay.

"Is it about your son, Sir?" Shay asked carefully but at least with a very half-assed hidden smirk. For a moment, Haytham just glared at him for that insolence, but then he simply sighed again.

"Yes. Of course about my _son_." He had taken Connor into his house without really thinking about it, after the incident with Charles in his garden that day. It just happened because this irrational spark of feeling the need to protect someone weaker and smaller than him forced him to. Now he could not simply throw him out again, could he? He still was not one hundred percent sure that Connor was indeed his son, but he had not wanted to really think about this topic too much during the last two months. He had accepted it as fact, though Charles had liked to emphasize how stupid this might be. "I don’t know what to do with him, really. We do not get along, no matter the efforts I take to make him feel comfortable in the house. The boy seems just to be angry all the time and when he is not angry, he is behaving like a little maniac. And now he found a friend in Desmond Miles of all people."

"He is a teenager." Shay chuckled and kept sorting through the documents.

"I did not behave like this when _I_ was a teenager." Haytham just stated as dryly as he could.

"Well, Sir, that might be because of your surely very stern education. Your son, on the other hand, had been brought up surely with more liberty than you had during your childhood and adolescence." Shay was not even wrong and Haytham knew that. His father had been a stern parent, just as his mother and he had spent most of his teenage years in a boarding school anyway. Every little effrontery had been punished severely for keeping the students in check. Connor, on the other hand … Well, perhaps a part of him was envious of the freedom his son had experienced during his upbringing. Maybe he was expecting too much of him.

"It was a mistake to send him to this school, wasn’t it?" Haytham finally admitted. "This school is one of the best private schools we have in America and the rules are very strict. I thought that this would be the perfect school for Connor to keep him in line, so he will be ready for the real world after he will have visited a good college. If he is to inherit this company in the future, he has to learn how the real world functions, right?"

Shay made a face that clearly spoke of disagreement, but he did not phrase it, instead he shrugged his shoulders. "I think, maybe, his way of living and thinking might be what the company will need in the future." He then finally stated. "As far as I know I would say that Connor has much of his grandfather and it was Mr. Kenway senior's way of free thinking, which made the company so successful."

Haytham knew that Shay was right, though he did not like it. Connor and his father really shared many similarities, maybe that was the reason he tried to just believe that Connor was his child. He could see so much of his own father in this boy's eyes and that he did not like. Maybe, if Connor would be just a little more like he was, then… Well, apparently he could not simply force the boy to change the sole core of his being, right?

"But what shall I do now? How can I make things better between us? I haven't seen the boy nearly the entire week after he tries to avoid me so much that he is even letting out his meals!"

"Maybe you should do something with him, spent time with him. I would propose that you and Connor might go on a vacation when he will turn sixteen. My father and I did that and it brought us closer together for sure."

Suddenly Haytham was at a loss for words. His birthday, well yes, but … "So … Yes, that’s a good plan. So the 26th of October then, well, that is indeed a long time span to somehow get along with him."

Shay made a face and this time he could not even hide it. "Sir, your son turns sixteen on the 4th of April."

An Aries then. Well, no wonder they did not get along. Aries were such bullheaded creatures!

"Yes, of course, I know. I just wanted to test you." Haytham was quick to reply, though he had had no clue when his alleged son was born and he did not even scrutinize why Shay knew this fact. Well, he paid Shay very much money to know things, he guessed. When his phone started ringing right in that moment, he almost growled. By now, he knew the number of Connor's school by heart.

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It was an especially dark and gloomy Thursday when Connor again stood in front of Mr. Pitcairn's door. They had switched their little meetings from the lunch break to the afternoon by now so that Connor would need to stay extra long every day. Connor had not seen Desmond after their discussion on Monday in the shower room of the gym (well he had seen Desmond occasionally in the hallway between classes, but never spoken to him since Monday, to be correct) and he missed his new found friend a bit, though it seemed as if he simply would not fit in - not with his classmates nor with someone like Desmond. Maybe it was just as his father had stated, maybe it really was his temper that was always standing in his way with other people. And maybe he deserved the punishment he was getting from Pitcairn.

Pitcairn liked to switch the punishment from day to day. Sometimes he would get caned (though it had never been as hard as on the first day) or he would get hit across the knuckles a few times or he was forced to write some stupid text a dozen times, but hardly ever a day had gone by without Pitcairn humiliating and degrading him in any way during the punishment.

Connor's nerves were quite on edge now that he again knocked at the familiar door where Pitcairn was waiting for him, already looking forward to humiliating the teenage boy again. By now, Connor did not even dare to imagine what he might have in stock this time for him.

"Come in!" Pitcairn barked from inside the room and Connor did not hesitate to follow the order, because hesitation normally meant extra punishment, just as being late. So he slipped inside without thinking twice. It was seven PM and Connor had an especially long day of school behind him. He simply wanted to get it over with and go home to crawl into his bed and try to forget about everything, hoping that the next year would be different for him. He just needed to endure this ridiculous punishment two more times and then he would be free and only needed to endure his father who could taunt and scold him for really no particular reason.

"Ah Mr. Kenway, right on time, who would have thought?" Pitcairn hummed. He said this really every day, sometimes accompanied by a remark along the lines of him being a savage that had been raised without knowing what time was. Of course, Connor could refer Mr. Pitcairn to Mr. Johnson to get educated about the life of the _savages_ to get this thought out of Pitcairn's head, but he knew that Pitcairn would never follow the instructions of a savage, to begin with.

Connor did not say a thing when he stepped into the room and closed the door behind his back. Pitcairn was standing leaned over his desk for the moment, but when he straightened his back and looked at Connor there was already the vicious glimmer of anticipation in his milk-ish eyes. "Take off your clothes." He instructed Connor dryly before he stepped around him and locked the door. The sound of the door being locked made him freeze right on the spot.

"Pardon?" Connor managed to ask; though his voice suddenly sounded very thin and weak.

"Oh dear, you really are quite slow in the head, aren't you boy?" Pitcairn sighed and moved to a cupboard that was located in the far right corner of the room. "I said take off your clothes. Since the usual treatment seems not to work with a bull-headed creature like you, I thought it was time for something different, something a bit more intrusive maybe."

Connor's whole body went stiff as a board by that choice of phrasing his teacher committed. He could not possibly say something like this and get away with it, could he? Connor really was not all too familiar with sexual innuendos but this was even for his understanding not only very much sexual but also very, very wrong! "I don’t think you can ask that of me." Connor simply stated, but Pitcairn turned around with a grimace of annoyance and anger as if he was about to slap him across the face.

"I _can_ , boy, and now do as I said! I don’t like to repeat myself over and over again!" Then he stopped, just as he was about to move to the cupboard again. "You did not think that I was about to sexually harass you, do you, boy?" Well, he had already done this, so maybe the thought was not so very far off, right?

"No, Sir." Connor growled.

"I really don’t know how things were handled in your village but in the civilized modern society we go about things a bit differently." Pitcairn snarled, before turning around again. "And now for the third and last time: _Take off your clothes_." He had no choice, had he? He just wanted to get it over with and get home already, so Connor started to take off his clothes in complete quietude and hung them over the backrest of the chair that stood in front of the desk, where the students would normally sit and where he had been sitting a few times already. It was cold inside the room and he was shivering greatly, while he was trying his best to at least block Pitcairn's sight on his genitalia with his trembling hands.

"There is nothing I haven't seen already, boy, now stop that nonsense and take away those hands." Pitcairn then said when he finally turned around to him, holding a brand new cane in his hand that was probably better for the job than the ruler _Connor_ had managed to break in half. Hesitantly, Connor took away the hands in front of his genitalia and lowered his gaze to the floor. He felt already quite ashamed just for staying naked inside his teacher's office, but he was sure that it would get worse. He already learned that about Pitcairn by now. This man really liked to make things as worse as possible for him and by now Connor was quite sure that this hatred that was centered solely upon him, was not only fueled by his skin color and ancestry, but was more of a personal thing.

Pitcairn made no secret out of looking him up and down quite closely. It was creepy, to say the least, and Connor felt just helpless, small and weak. "You are still growing, aren't you boy?" Pitcairn chuckled. "Well, you are quite small for a boy your age. You turn sixteen next year, right?"

"Yes, Sir." Connor hissed, but Pitcairn just laughed a bit when his eyes darted over his body one more time, inspecting him as if he was a figurine made of stone. Suddenly he wished to be exactly that.

"Well, you should put more effort in growing then; girls don’t like it if a boy has nothing to offer to them." Connor could only bite his tongue so he would not hiss some insolent comment back. It would not help him if he would do something like this. Well, it seemed he had learned _something_ already, right? "And you are quite hairless too. Are you sure that’s normal? Well, maybe that has something to do with your race, I guess. I've heard that people with darker skin tend to have less hair on their bodies. It does look a bit weird, though, does it not? I mean, you have more of the build of an eleven-year-old girl." He did not even want to know how in the world Pitcairn would know how an eleven-year-old girl would look like naked. Better not to think about that, otherwise, he really would lose his temper. Right now Connor was contempt to just stare at the ceiling, hoping that this would soon be over.

But it was not.

After Pitcairn had finally looked at him from all possible angles, as it seemed, he pulled free the scrunchie Connor was wearing in his long hair to keep it out of his face. Immediately the almost black mass of hair was pooling over his face and shoulders like water being released from a bottle of soda that had been previously shaken up to the point where the bottle nearly exploded. "You really _do_ look like a girl with hair like this boy! Has no one ever told you to cut your hair properly? Or is this something your native folk like to have on their men? Well, it clearly would classify as a sign of compensation for the lack of hair on your body, wouldn’t it?" His hair really was quite long, Connor knew this. It was almost as long as the hair of his best friend Kanen'tó:kon back in the village. He liked it like this. It was just their way of wearing their hair, he guessed and he did not want to really cut it.

That was until Pitcairn took a pair of scissors from his desk. "Let me take care of this boy. Well this would be something your father should do, I guess, but after your father is no better than this, I should not be surprised." He could already hear the first _snap_ of the scissors when they cut off one streak of his hair right behind his left ear and stared in horror to the rather long streak of hair he had cut off before Connor managed to get moving again and grabbed the rest of his mane protectively.

"You cannot do this!" He hissed angrily.

"Of course I can! Back in my days, boys like you would have gotten their heads shaven!" Pitcairn snarled, furious and his skin blotched because of the way Connor was resisting his punishment. Then - it really was a miracle - Pitcairn threw the scissors onto his desk. "We can continue this tomorrow I believe. But it is no wonder that no punishment managed to get through to your brain through this unruly mane of yours."

Connor was almost relieved to hear that and grabbed his clothes immediately, but Pitcairn snatched them from him again. "We are not done here."

"But I thought-"

"You better stop thinking boy. Nothing good will come from it."

He could not help but to ball his hands into trembling fists. He was hungry and tired and he just wanted to go home. Surely, his father would scrutinize him again when he came home and instead of really listening to him blame him for the way he was treated in here.

"To the desk, _now_. Hands on the desk, face to the front." He already knew the order and Connor followed it without thinking twice, already conditioned to behave so he would not get tortured any more than this.

Unhurried as ever Pitcairn took his sweet time, so Connor could try to brace himself for what was about to come, to fear the first strike. This time, it took exceptionally longer than normally and right then when Connor was about to look over his shoulder, his hair still hanging loosely over his front, the first blow came and this time Connor was pushed forward due to the impact of the wooden cane when it slammed down on his back. Now he knew why Pitcairn wanted to see him so late in the day. No one was around or roaming the hallways to hear the loud smacking sound when the cane was hitting his bare back. He could not help but yelp in pain, but he was horrified because he could not manage to keep this sound to himself. Pitcairn snickered in appreciation behind him before he hit him again so hard his knees began to tremble under his weight and the impact. He leaned down further onto the desk in front of him.

"Stand up straight, boy!" Pitcairn hissed. "Or do you really have no backbone?"

"Yes, Sir." Connor managed to hiss before he forced his back to straighten again. In his mind, he was counting the strikes out of pure habit and of course to distract his brain from the pain. It did not work at all this time. Would he strike him again so hard and so often that the cane would break in half? Or would he stop sooner? Connor was not sure and he did not want to really think about it. His knees were shaking, just like his hands when he was clawing onto the desk for support, with every strike he was pushed forward, his hipbones scraping against the sharp edge of the wooden desk. Surely, the desk would leave marks of its own too on him. _Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three_. His back was hot because of the pain, but he could feel something dripping down his skin - hot, even hotter than his inflamed skin.

"I am really tired of you and your father's behavior." Pitcairn suddenly growled. "If it was for me - If Principal Miles would have asked _me_ I would have said right away that someone from your cultural background is not fit for a school like this one with its long history of great minds!"

"Yes, Sir." Connor croaked.

"And now I need to put up with a dirty little savage like you in my classroom! I need to waste my precious time on a half-breed of all people! On a person with a whore as a mother who only persuaded a white man to sleep with her so she could foist a child on him! But yes, of course I know, that’s the way you wildlings live your tiny lives out in the wilderness, right? That’s the way you support your communities in getting rich white men to pay child support for the bastard children you foist upon them without ever providing the evidence for your claims!"

Connor could only clench his jaw. He wanted to yell at him that it was not like this and that his mother had not done this on purpose, but he could not. He simply could not do it. The strikes became even harder and by now Connor needed to wrest his left elbow on the table to stabilize his body. Where had he stopped counting? Was it already thirty strikes? Was it more?

"My good friend Charles was right about your fine mother right from the start, but your father would not listen to him when Charles said she just wanted his money! Your father is an arrogant fool and he does not even deserve a friend such as Charles! If it wasn’t for Charles's and his wisdom your mother would still suck on Haytham's blood to provide for her people so-"

Connor spun around without thinking twice. He had almost heard something in his mind _snap_ like the scissors before when they had cut off his hair. The cane hit him right in his face and left a cut on his right cheek, but Connor, though he jolted back in pain, did not care and grabbed for the cane.

"What are you-" Pitcairn began, when Connor managed to wrest the cane from his hand, though Pitcairn fought desperately for the upper hand. He did not think twice when he slammed down the cane on Pitcairn's body and struck him on his shoulder. Pitcairn cried out in pain - and really, Connor was not even aware that he possessed so much strength. But he could not stop himself. He kept hitting the man at least ten times before Pitcairn was a quivering mess on the floor and Connor shaking with fury and pain at the same time.

It was only then when he let the cane fall and understood that he had just beaten a teacher, that he grabbed his clothes and turned the key in the lock with trembling fingers.

"You will bleed for that." Pitcairn promised with a dark growl. "Your father will have you punished and this time you will not forget the message you dirty savage. I will make you pay." Connor was almost frozen in horror, but then he ripped open the door and just ran out of the office, still very much naked and now thankful for the advanced hour. Connor only stopped when he reached the restrooms at the end of the hallway and hoped Pitcairn would not follow him.

In there he could no longer hold back his pained sobbing when he tried to get into his clothes as fast as possible. He could hardly move without a jolt of pain shooting through his entire body, but he needed to. So, after he finally got into his clothes he shot a small glance into the mirror. The spot where the cane had hit his face was red and already swollen and the cut so deep it clearly would leave a scar. A part of him thought that maybe that would finally get his father to listen to _his side_ of the story, but then, when he finally stepped out of the building and into the dark winter night, he thought that he could impossibly go back home.

For a while, Connor just stood there in the snow and watched his breath appearing in front of his face because of the cold and only thought about what he had just done. He had beaten his teacher. He had drawn blood. He knew Pitcairn would immediately turn to the headmaster's office for support and that his father would be informed about this incident. He just knew.

"Mr. Kenway?" A voice thick with a French accent made him jump in surprise and horror all the same. When he whirled around he almost lost his balance but caught himself just when he was about to slip. Monsieur Dorian was just coming down the path from the front door of the school towards the street. Connor knew that he was normally taking the bus too and his heart was pounding hard inside his chest. "Is everything alright?" The young teacher asked before he stopped in front of him surprised. "Oh mon Dieu, you are bleeding! Quick, come inside, I will treat your wound and call your father."

"N-No!" Connor exclaimed maybe a bit too enthusiastically, but he did not really care, instead he staggered a few feet away from him. He had enough of teachers. "No … I … I have to go now." He stuttered and did not wait for anything else to happen when he just took off running. He did not take the bus this night, instead, he just ran, no matter how much he was hurting. He could not go to his father and he could not go to his tribe. There was no way back, only forward.

For a second he thought about Desmond. _New York_. Well, maybe that was not the dumbest idea.


	8. Chapter 8

Apparently, his son had beaten a teacher. Apparently, his son had beaten a teacher with a wooden cane until the bloody thing had broken in half. At least that was what the voice on the telephone had told him only an hour ago when the call from Connor's school had startled him at his office. Mr. Pitcairn had a cut on his right eyebrow and on his nose, which was both still bleeding when Haytham entered the office of Bill Miles for the second time since his son was visiting this school. The first time had already been one too many times for his liking.

Haytham knew Pitcairn for while now. He was a good old friend of Haytham's good old friend Charles Lee and having him being a teacher in this place had been just one more excellent reason for Haytham to send his son to this school for the proper education and treatment. There was one more teacher inside the office, which Haytham had never seen before up until this point. He was a rather young looking man, with brown hair, that was neatly pulled back by a hair tie and sharp brown eyes, sparing him only a short look. The long scar that was decorating the man's face did not manage to disfigure him, at least not in Haytham's eyes.

There was no trace of Connor, only the broken cane lying on the desk of Haytham's great cousin, looking like the unmistakable proof of his son's guilt and criminal tendencies. "Where is Connor?" Haytham barked immediately when he closed the door in his back.

"He ran away, just like the little coward he is." Pitcairn snarled and to Haytham's surprise William seemed quite calm about this whole ordeal - Maybe he was even just a bit triumphant that Haytham's son was worse than his own? That was all the more reason for Haytham to really punish this infuriating boy and if that meant he would need to spank this brat himself, he would gladly do it. It seemed his mother lacked in this field of parenting more than Haytham would have ever expected from her.

"What happened?" Never in his life had it been harder to remain an at least somewhat calm and controlled posture and face. Inside, his mind was screaming in anger. He was furious. Inside his mind, was raging a hellfire.

"Well" Pitcairn began with a snarl. "I just executed the proper punishment on your son, just as you agreed to with headmaster Miles, when the boy suddenly grabbed the cane from me, which I used for the punishment and started to beat me with it until the bloody thing snapped in half. Then the boy ran out of the room and escaped the facility. I am sure you will understand that I have no other choice than to file the appropriate charge against your son for this attack and testify to the police about what has happened."

"Of course." Haytham stated. Now his son would really get into trouble and this time even the police would get involved too. Of course, a part of him wanted to protect his child from any harm and that meant from the police too, but there was no way he would take this behavior and let it go unpunished. Not even Haytham's own father could approve of this kind of behavior for once! After all, this boy seemed just to be a wild beast, just as Charles stated before and Haytham felt terribly ashamed that he finally needed to see the truth about this boy.

"If you don’t mind me interfering," The unnamed young teacher finally chirped from the corner he stood in, his voice heavy with a thick French accent. "but I don’t think that the boy did this without justification."

Silence hit the room as hard as a sound of a gong and when Haytham looked at the young man, said young man's eyes were narrowed at Pitcairn and there was nothing friendly in them, nothing loyal, really nothing of the feelings Haytham would have expected to see between colleagues.

"What do you mean, Arno?" William interrupted, because it was already quite clear, that Pitcairn was about to explode in anger about this insolent comment of the younger and in his eyes clearly inferior teacher. "Haytham, this is Arno Dorian, our new exchange French teacher. Connor is in Monsieur Dorian's class." William then turned to Haytham, as if he just remembered his manners. Americans. However, Haytham bit back his snarky remark about American manners and behaviorism and just nodded sharply as a sign of understanding. He did not really care who this man was, only what he knew about the things that had happened here on this day.

"I saw Connor running down the hallway indeed after he apparently just left Mr. Pitcairn's office, this much is true. However, I was quite surprised to see that the boy was naked from head to toe when he ran down the hallway. Of course, it was too dark to see details, but it was undoubtedly Connor. I saw him a few minutes later again, outside the school. He had a rather nasty cut on his face, which was still bleeding by the time I approached him outside. So I believe, that Monsieur Pitcairn is not telling us the whole story as it seems." Monsieur Dorian ended and his face was quite satisfied to say the least. It was clear as the freshly falling snow outside, that Dorian and Pitcairn could not stand each other, especially now, after this traitorous act, the young Frenchman committed against his colleague. Of course, one might argue their contempt for one another could be just the usual banter French and Brits inherited for generations now.

However, those personal feuds were not important to Haytham right in that moment and not the thing that was really bothering him. "Why was my son _naked_ , Pitcairn?" Haytham hissed and even William suddenly seemed a bit more alarmed than usual. Usually, William was more like a very patient rock, already used to inferior behavior from other people – especially his own failure of a son. Pitcairn, on the other hand, made a face that clearly spoke of either ignorance or feigned innocence.

"It was part of his punishment." Pitcairn stated. Of course, he could have denied the claim, but since there was a witness, denying would not make his claim of innocence more believable as it seemed. "It should teach him respect, just as the caning. I thought with making him undress, the punishment would this time find more of the desired effect."

Haytham could feel his blood boil and his skin crawl even thinking of his son being naked in front of a teacher for punishment. Who could affirm him that Pitcairn was speaking the truth and that nothing more than this happened? Instead of punching his teeth in, Haytham set his jaw and looked at William. His face was blotched in anger, when their eyes locked and clearly, Pitcairn would face more than just a scolding from the headmaster. Haytham would not say it, but he was sure, that William knew that he expected Pitcairn to be not only fired but reported to the police at least. "I believe you will take care of the situation, William." Haytham spat, before he turned around to go. He could not stand being in the room just one second longer with a man whom he trusted enough to educate his son, whom he once had called a friend, whom humiliated and disgraced his son in that horrible fashion, because if he was about to stay, he would beat him with the sad rest of the cane this man had used to torture his child until it would snap once more.

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Desmond was not very resentful. That was a fact. He was quite easy to forgive people when they had made mistakes and understood it. He found it not very useful to hold a grudge against someone more than necessary. This trait was now benefitting Connor Kenway greatly as it seemed, when Desmond quietly climbed up the ladder to the attic of the house his family was living in, with a few bags of crisps and a bottle coke under his arm. Well, it surely was not the best meal, but he could not possibly sneak up a proper dish here without anyone noticing.

"Sorry, that’s all I could grab without my mom noticing. Weird how she not even asked me what I wanted with all the crisps." Desmond murmured when he walked through the attic towards the corner where his guest had made himself comfortable.

"It's okay…" Connor murmured when Desmond sat down in front of him. He had not wasted one moment, when his friend had knocked at his window, after he had climbed the tree in front of it, to open the window and let him inside like a stray cat. Now his fried looked terribly small, the way he was cowering in the corner of the attic with all those thick blankets around him. Apparently, he did mind neither the thick patina of dust all around him nor the fat spiders which were watching the intruder carefully.

"What happened?" Desmond finally asked because he had not managed to before. He had been rather busy hiding Connor up here and getting him warm again after he apparently ran through the snow for a while.

"Pitcairn happened." Connor then croaked, but he did not even look at him and Desmond did not want to ask further questions. He knew how Pitcairn was, after all, he was visiting the Black Hills Academy for quite a while now and Pitcairn was his most hated teacher of them all.

"Pitcairn likes to torment, when he has chosen a new victim. It will get better, as soon as he finds another new student he can torment and humiliate." Desmond said, though he knew that it did not help and that it was no solution either. This could not be a solution. He knew that Pitcairn could not keep on going like this, tormenting innocent children and teens only because he did not like their skin color or their noses or the color of their hair. He had talked about this with his father before, the first time Desmond noticed how Pitcairn picked a new victim, a girl with bright red hair, but his father had only said that Pitcairn was a bit old fashioned still, but at least he was a very good teacher. For his father only the results had mattered and thanks to Pitcairn, the results the students achieved in comparison to other private schools had always been great. Good results meant more parents, which were willing to fund their school and to send their kids to the Black Hills Academy. However, even his father now needed to see that enough was enough. Until now, Pitcairn had never seriously injured a student, but it seemed he downright _hated_ Connor for whatever stupid, ridiculous reason he might have!

"But it's not right." Connor hissed and then paused before he forced himself again to speak. "I beat him with his own cane today. My father will throw me out this time surely!" Yes, of course, he would. He was Haytham fucking Kenway and maybe an even bigger asshole than Desmond's father. He could clearly understand Connor's worries at this point, after everything his younger relative had already told him about growing up in his little village. It seemed Connor had already a bit more experience with people like Pitcairn.

"So what are you going to do now?" Desmond then sighed. Of course, the news took him by surprise. He knew that Connor could throw a punch, after this little incident with Daniel Cross and his pals the other day, but he would never have thought that Connor, this lanky boy, would attack a teacher like this! Though of course, he did not know how hard he beat him and how seriously he had injured Pitcairn.

"New York."

\----------------

Maybe their plan was not the best. Connor was ready to admit this, as he walked down the road with Desmond by his side. It was not only dark but _cold as fuck too_ , how Desmond liked to emphasize every half mile or so. The older teen was shivering with every step he took like a man that was locked into a freezer. Well, of course, Desmond was not quite as used to those temperatures as he was. "How far is it even to New York?" Desmond scoffed at some point of their little journey and Connor could not help but to roll his eyes.

His back was aching and every step he took was pure and utter agony. He had only half-heartedly took care of his injuries with Desmond's help. Desmond had helped him to clear up his wounds and the blood, though it had already stained his clothes. He had left his uniform back at Desmond's house and got a few clothes of the older and taller teen. Of course, they did not really fit his still quite slender body, but at least Connor had his backpack and thus his most important belonging - the photo he had from his parents. Well, sadly he had left his plush wolf behind.

When he now shoved his hands into the pockets of the coat his father had bought him a little while ago, he could feel his cell-phone in his left pocket. His phone was shut off since he had left the school building for he did not want his father to call him - which he surely would try anyway. Well … would he? Maybe he was glad that Connor had not come home by now. Maybe he was glad he did not need to take care of him any longer. Surely he thought that Connor had gone back to his tribe and would not search for him any further, right?

"I don’t know. Haven't you come up with that glorious plan?" Connor sighed and marched forward. It was maybe not the safest route they were taking right here on the side of the road with numerous cars coming their way. Sometimes Connor was blinded by the headlights of upcoming cars or startled by the loud honk of a vehicle coming from behind.

"Well, yes, but…" But his plan had only consisted of leaving home and going to New York without really knowing _how_ to get there. "Well, it's not that far to New York anyway, right?"

"Only 334 miles." Connor slowly began to regret following Desmond and trusting his abilities on deciding for a good plan.

"Maybe we should try hitchhiking then."

\----------------

The lights of the police cars were illuminating the entire street, after they had arrived in front of the house, waking up the neighbors and drawing attention towards the white house at the corner of the neighborhood. "Sir, are you really sure you don’t know where your son could possibly wanted to go to?" The officer asked and William Miles ruffled through his thick gray hair, feeling more nervous and older than he had ever felt before in his life. Haytham knew that he was clearly feeling like this, just by looking at him, because he felt the very same way, as he stood now in the middle of William's living room. Haytham suddenly felt as if he had aged by ten years in just a few seconds. Haytham was a rather rational man and he was not quite used to being blinded by emotions, but after he arrived at his house fully expecting Connor to lay in his bed, just to notice that he was not, his heart had begun racing and not once stopped since then. Of course, first he had searched for his boy, even tried to call his grandmother, but when William had contacted him and said that Desmond was gone too, he had not hesitated to come to his house.

It was way after midnight now that they were standing inside the living room of the Miles' family home. William's wife was sitting in the kitchen and Haytham could indeed hear her sobbing quietly, while some officer was surely questioning her. Apparently, she had seen Desmond before vanishing with a couple of bagged crisps and a bottle of coke up in the attic but had not thought too much of it. Apparently, the Miles boy was a bit weird from time to time, but that was hardly news to Haytham of course. They quickly found Connor's uniform with the bloodied dress shirt in Desmond's laundry bin inside his room and a small nest of pillows and old blankets in one corner of the attic. The boys had run away together as it seemed, though none of them had a clue why that could be and of course neither of them boys had left a message.

"No." He heard William sigh. "I really don’t know."

"Is there any reason either of your boys could have run away like this? Were there any signs this might happen sooner or later?" The cop pressed on, his infuriating little notebook still clasped in his hands like it could tell him all he needed to know about the world and the universe, though clearly if it could he would not need to ask them.

"Of course not!" William spat and began pacing through his living room, a father on the brink of a breakdown as it seemed. A father horrified that something terrible could have happened to his son. Now Haytham himself just stood here, not knowing what to feel and what to think.

His son had been caned this day by one of his teachers. This was hardly a reason for Haytham to freak out about all this, but hearing his son had been forced to take off all his clothes and that he had been humiliated by Pitcairn maybe was indeed reason enough to freak out. Now Connor was gone and he did not need a Ph.D. in social pedagogy to understand that this was directly the result of the way Pitcairn had treated his son - or the way _he_ had treated his son. Maybe he should have listened to Connor's side of the story a bit more. Maybe he should not have dismissed what he had told him so easily as to be just a bit unusual way of punishing students in those modern times. "My son got into a little squabble with his teacher today. I'm afraid that might be the reason why he decided to run away. I can only assume he went with Desmond, because though they are not friends for a long time now, surely Mr. Miles Junior has a bad influence on my son."

"I don’t think that _your son_ needs my son's bad influence on him to decide to run away." William barked. "After all your son manages just fine when it comes to doing stupid stuff or getting into trouble!"

"Enough of this already!" Mrs. Miles finally shouted from the kitchen, before they could already hear her stomping steps on the hallway, followed shortly by her appearing out of nowhere in the doorway. She was a beautiful woman, even with those blotched red cheeks and the not quite dried tear streaks on her face. Desmond clearly got his dark brown hair from her, just as well as his hazel colored eyes. "Let's just call it a tie! Both of our boys did stupid things and they clearly not covered themselves with glory lately, but that is not of importance right now! All that matters is that our boys decided on running away! I don’t care why that is right now! I just want my son back and that should be your goal too!"

She was right. That was one thing most mothers had in common: they were all always painfully right about the things they said or believed. Maybe that was just something that came with motherhood. His very own mother, Tessa, had never been wrong about anything that had concerned him. For a moment there was silence before the police officers snapped into action again. They got almost everything they could ask them for by now, after all, they did not know what their boys had thought to do too. After the police cars left of course Haytham tried to reach his son's phone, but it would not work. The brat had turned his phone off and so apparently did Desmond.

Or did someone take their phones from them? _His son_ was surely not as dumb as just to leave behind his phone or even throw it away. So, of course, he had given the details of his phone to the police. The only thing he could now hope for was that Connor would turn on his phone again.

\------------

Hitchhiking was not a good idea. Connor had known that right from the start. It was no good idea, but it was a Desmond-idea. In the darkness, they had been quite hard to see for the upcoming cars, which had raced down the long stretch of road between the two walls of thick forest and so, naturally it had taken a long time until finally, a car stopped for them. They could have tried the path through the forest instead, as Connor had liked to emphasize from time to time, as cars had driven past them, but Desmond was at least just as bullheaded and stubborn as he was and the triumph on his face nearly disgusting when finally that old silver _Honda Civic_ stopped. For just a moment, when Desmond ran to the passenger seat's window, Connor had recalled all those horror stories of creepy truck drivers or serial killer luring their prey into their cars, but when Desmond waved for him to come, he did it anyway. At least he was not alone and he was pretty sure that he was faster than Desmond - if it would come to a situation where they needed to flee, of course.

It turned out that there was no creepy truck driver or potential serial killer waiting for them in that old _Honda Civic_ , but only an elderly couple on their way to their kids for the holidays, introducing themselves as Pearl and Duane to them, as they quickly scrambled into the backseat one after another and closed the door, so that the journey of Pearl and Duane could continue, just as Connor and Desmond's glorious flight to New York City, where dreams and expectations could come true for every young man, as it seemed. At least that was what Desmond had promised him, for the last two hours or so. "So, lads, where are you headed?" Duane asked after a small while when they left the spot the couple had picked them up on the side of the road and threw a small glance into his rearview mirror to have a look at the two boys on the back seat.

"New York." Desmond answered, though his mouth was full already after the old Mrs. Henderson had given them a few muffins to test, before their kids would eat them and probably die a very horrible way. Desmond liked to test food, this much was clear, no matter the clear possibility of having this food being poisoned or drugged. Connor had learned not to take sweets from strangers and though Pearl and her husband seemed to be nice people, he much rather listened to the things he had learned as a small boy.

"Oh, New York!" Pearl laughed clearly excited. "What are you doing in New York?"

Connor decided it would be best if he would let Desmond speak. Desmond was quite more likable than he was and Connor had this way of angering people when he tried to make small talk with them. "Visiting a concert. Our parents did not want to give us a ride, so we decided on going there by ourselves." He grinned sheepishly and to Connor's amazement, the old lady just laughed again.

"Oh, Duane! Doesn’t that remind you of our youth?" She got a little hum in agreement from her husband, but Connor was quite surprised by that reaction, to say the least. He would not have thought that she would react like this. He had almost seen them being sent back to their houses again.

"But we can just take you to the Boston central station, I'm afraid." Duane finally stated with a low hum, drumming his thick fingers against his steering wheel in tune with a Christmas song that was played on the radio. Connor had hoped, when he started this adventure with his father in October that he would get to spend Christmas with his father and maybe even grandfather, like a normal family. Instead, just a few days before Christmas, he was sitting in the car of total strangers on his journey to a city he had never visited before, to start a new life he had never even expected on living.

"That’s amazing!" Desmond stated still with a full mouth and for a moment Connor was not just amazed that he was not spitting crumbs of muffin all around, but that it seemed so easy to run away from home. He would have thought honest people like these two would not help two kids in running away from home so easily, even if they believed that they were just getting to a concert.

As for now, Connor was sure that he would never really understand those _white men_ and the way they behaved. People of his cultural background would surely not help him like that but bring them back home so their parents could, of course, scold and spank them properly for just getting away like this. Anyway, Desmond and he were dropped off in front of the central station, though the old Mrs. Henderson refused to let them go without a few more muffins as provisions for the way which Desmond happily accepted.

"So" Connor began when they walked through the central station. It was way past midnight by now and it was about time for them to leave the city if they did not want to get caught by someone. He was sure that by now his father noticed his disappearance and surely so did Desmond's parents. Some might say they were not good parents, neither of them, but they were not blind or dumb. "Do you have any money for the tickets to New York?"

Desmond stopped and turned to him making the most miserable grimace Connor had ever seen. So, that meant no, he assumed. "Well, let's just hope we won't meet a conductor." He shrugged and walked on towards the info-point. Connor followed with a sigh. He was no fan of things like these. He had never broken the law, never made any real trouble, but since he today had beaten a teacher quite severely and since he surely would get into trouble with the police because of it, there was no point in trying to keep playing the innocent little boy anyway, right?

It was time to embrace his dark side and to truly become an outcast of society, starting with driving on a train without a valid ticket.


	9. Chapter 9

Connor had never dodged the fare. Really. He had never done it before and now that he had no other choice for the very apparent emptiness of his wallet, he felt terribly guilty. He had only rarely used public transportation in his quite young life. His mother and he had used her old car or the bus if anything to get to Boston and back to their village, but never the train and he had never left Boston too. Not once, he had put even one foot over the town line of Boston. Now he did all these things at once: He was using the train to get out of Boston while dodging the fare. And for the entire time, he felt as if he was being watched. Connor hardly dared to look up since they got on the train two hours ago. Two hours done, two more to go. Desmond, on the other hand, was lounging quite comfortably on the thick leather seats and after he just finished snacking on a bag of crisps, he was snoring now quite peacefully.

How could he even be that calm? They could get into real trouble any minute now! He had not even eyes for the world outside the window - well it was dark anyway. Normally, under different circumstances, he would love to look at the surroundings, at the passing and always changing landscapes and the world they were traveling through, but now he felt just nervous and anxious and not at all like the criminal that he should be. He was sure that people like … like Al Capone or Ted Bundy never felt as anxious and nervous as he did now! Clearly Desmond had more experience with stuff like this, otherwise, he would not be that calm. To Connor, it was an enigma how Desmond even managed to eat a whole bag of crisps as if all that meant nothing, while Connor felt even sick thinking of eating anything! Desmond really was cold blooded.

With every person that walked past their compartment, Connor was startled to his very core and already a few of the other passengers had looked at him a bit perplexed when they noticed his restlessness.

"By that ratio, we _will_ get caught." Desmond mumbled at one point and Connor almost jumped.

"What?"

"Well, if you are behaving like we did something wrong, then people will start picking up on this. They already are, after you are behaving like a nervous squirrel the whole damn time since we got on this train!"

Connor knew that he was right and that he was drawing suspicion towards them when he kept behaving like he now did. "So what are you proposing then I should do?"

"Relax." Desmond yawned. "Just lean back, eat a few crisps and relax. We are arriving in two hours in New York and everything will be fine and dandy."

"It cannot possibly be that easy!" Connor hissed. Surely there was a conductor on that very train and surely he would come here at one point! It simply was not possible that they would just drive from Boston to New York for four hours without being checked at one point!

"It can!" Desmond sighed. "But not with such a Debby Downer as you are! Just relax, calm down and everything will be just fine!"

But it was not. Only ten minutes after Desmond assured him that everything would be just fine, Connor could hear the train conductor a few compartments down their wagon with the familiar term he had heard so often in movies or sitcoms. "May I ask for your tickets, please?" It was of course not a question but a very clear demand and one which caused almost a heart attack for Connor.

"What now?" He hissed, quite alarmed of course, but his relative just got up and took his backpack as if nothing at all happened. " _What now?_ " Connor hissed again, just as Desmond took the bottle of coke, which he had brought with him, from his backpack and started shaking the bloody thing quite violently, his face the stoic expression of a Buddhist monk after years and years of training at this point. "Desmond!" Connor jumped from his seat when he heard that the conductor moved onward. Frantically Connor grabbed his backpack too.

"Shove it under your jacket!" Desmond simply ordered him to do, as if the world was suddenly turning slower.

"What?"

"Just do as I say!" And that he did. Urgently he pushed his backpack under his jacket and was very well aware that he now looked like a fat kid – at least at first glance. Well, that would not help them in any way!

"May I ask for your tickets please?" He heard the conductor two compartments down when Desmond opened the bottle and a burst of coke immediately erupted out of it like lava from a volcano, spilling not only all over Desmond's clothes but Connor's too.

" _CONNOR! WHAT THE-!_ Are you _completely_ retarded now?" Desmond began yelling and jumped to the door of their compartment before hastily closing the bottle again. "Look at the mess you've made! Even my backpack is soiled!" He stumbled out of the compartment. "And look at yourself! Oh dear, Connor! Mum will kill us if she sees us like that! Come on now, we need to get this cleaned up!"

Suddenly he grabbed the very confused Connor by his wrist and pulled him out of the compartment. Even his long hair was dripping with coke. It was absolutely disgusting. A few people poked their heads out of the doors of their compartments to look at the duo when Desmond was pulling him down the wagon towards the restrooms. "I can't believe you!" Desmond kept rambling. The ruckus seemed to have sufficed, though. Most of the people they were passing were snickering over them boys, fully believing their little, staged accident - perhaps mainly because Connor was looking oh so miserably with his soaked hair.

The restroom was in the next wagon, so the both of them simply vanished through the sliding door into the next wagon and pressed on. "What now?" Connor hissed yet again when they walked past the restroom.

"The train stops in five minutes. We'll get off then and now come on, _hurry_."

\---------

Haytham came home to a dark and empty house. This was hardly new, after all, it had been like this for the last sixteen years. Since he was living in America it had never bothered him to be alone in this vast space that was his house, his fortress, and though he would now gladly state that it was still not bothering him at all, it was.

For only a bit more than two months he had lived with someone else in this place and where he had been previously perfectly contempt with the occasional visitations from his friends, such as Charles or Thomas to chat with them over a bottle of his most expensive wine or the most famous ale, now he suddenly felt a bit lost, standing here in the middle of the hallway.

He could not help but stare up the staircase and to feel ridiculous. It would be very cliché to say that the time with this boy - _his boy_ \- had changed him and made him a better man, but the truth was that it did not. At least not in Haytham's eyes. He was not changed only because he had lived for two months with another human being, with his son of all people. He was still the very same Haytham Edward Kenway and he still prided himself on the things he prided himself on before Connor came into his life, just with the addition of having a son. A beautiful, wild creature just as his mother was. A stubborn and fierce and very proud individual, which did not like asking for help. A boy that wanted to deal with his problems just as Haytham wanted to deal with problems: alone.

He was not changed. He only got an _add-on_ , an _update_.

And since said update had been taken from him so quickly, his systems seemed to not operate correctly any longer. He was worried. Yes, of course, he knew of the existence of that feeling and he knew how it felt. He was worried and shaken to the very core. He did not know where his son went to or if he was still alive. He did not care for Desmond that much to be honest, but this worry he kept feeling for his own son was like a virus, eating away at his brain, setting his whole body into an alarmed frenzy.

"Get yourself together, man. He sure is alright and he will come back home as soon as he understands what running away really means. After all, he surely will not have yet another father out there he could run to, can he?" Haytham mumbled and straightened his back, before he hung away his coat, brushed off his shoes and walked up the stairs. It was already almost dawn (well, actually no, but it would be if they would not be stuck in winter right now) and he was suddenly feeling very old and very tired.

Only for a short moment, he glanced into Connor's room, maybe stupidly hoping to see his son lying in his bed, but there only was his plush wolf sitting on the bed, staring at him accusatorily. "And what are you looking at, hm?" Haytham sighed before he threw away common sense and walked into his son's room. The guest room. It was not his son's room. Surely Connor would move the furniture differently. Perhaps he would move his bed right underneath the window, covering the broad windowsill with pillows and a blanket so he could sit there and watch the stars.

Haytham sat on the bed heavily and grabbed for the plush wolf to busy his hands. It was quite soft. A bit softer than he had expected it to be and so was his son if he thought about it more closely. Connor was a big-mouthed and a bit bratty teenager. He was a rascal. He was a trouble maker. But he was also a stargazer and a lover of nature. Of course, he had destroyed a few of Haytham's rose bushes, but he installed a small patch of herbs across one side of his house too. He could almost always predict if it was going to be a rainy day or if the weather would be nice and he had a giant sweet tooth which was something that was clearly a Kenway trait also. Briefly, he thought about the birthday present he got from his son. This giant ship made of dark chocolate, clearly a present one could one get from a child such as Connor. Oh, he had loved every bite of it.

This room really did not do justice to Connor.

Those empty white walls suddenly felt more like the walls of a prison. Maybe he would like them wooden instead, or blue or maybe even green? A few more pictures would be nice also. "What am I even doing here?" Haytham sighed when he slowly got up. He had not even yet adopted Connor legally. Sure, if his name was written on the birth certificate of this stubborn boy as his father, he did not need to adopt him, but this right here was a trial set for a few months, right? He would leave again. If he was ever coming home, he surely would leave again to go back to his tribe.

His grandmother had been furious when Haytham had called her today. If Connor would come home, she would waste not a second to get him back to their tribe and maybe this would be for the best. He was clearly not made for being a real father, for being supportive of his child. Hell, he had not even listened to Connor, when he came home by Monday and later said that Pitcairn had caned him.

Haytham still had the plush wolf with him, when he left the room and entered his own bedroom. Surely, he was no father and he would never be one, he thought, when he lay down fully clothed on his own bed, the plush wolf still in his arms.

\----------

Desmond's plans were weird. That was something Connor had already manage to establish by now. Desmond's plans were really, really weird, but they seemed to work from time to time. Connor was still flabbergasted when they left the station. "So where are we now?" Connor sighed when they stepped outside into the snow.

"New Haven." Desmond chuckled and looked around. It was almost five AM by now and there were a few people already entering or leaving the station on their way to work, some of them maybe even on their way to university or school.

"New Haven?" Connor repeated quietly. Wow. He not only escaped out of Boston, he also entered New Haven and all this without getting into trouble once! Well … He did get into trouble but no one had noticed! His grandpa would be proud of him. "Wow… I never left Boston before."

Desmond made big eyes at this statement as if it was really _that_ unbelievable. "Really? Well, we were originally living in New York, but we moved to Boston where my father was born when he got the job as a teacher in Black Hills Academy." Desmond grinned. "I think I was around seven at the time. I hated it in Boston immediately, so I always dreamt of going back to New York."

"And becoming a barkeeper." Connor added dryly. For him, it still did not make real sense.

In the darkness around them, it was quite hard to tell, but he was sure that Desmond's cheeks were a bit red now. "So we can't take the bus from now on." Desmond suddenly stated, maybe too quickly change the topic. "We could wait for the next train to New York, but I would rather keep on going. Since I know my father, he surely already got the police involved and they surely check out the stations in Boston and look at the materials of the surveillance cameras. Maybe we better stay on the road now and try hitchhiking again."

Hitchhiking. Well, Desmond surely was right about his father alarming the police, because no matter what Desmond might think of his father William, for Connor it was quite clear that William Miles would even alarm the army or national guard if necessary to get back his only child - not so much maybe because he was worried, but surely to annoy the living crap out of Desmond and show him who was the superior of them both. Connor's own father on the other hand surely was relieved that he was gone now. "I doubt that we find a couple like the Hendersons again." Connor muttered, but he followed Desmond nonetheless. Slowly he began to find trust in Desmond's weird plans, though he was still sticky, cold, wet and miserable.

New York was quite the sight for the sore eyes so shortly before Christmas for a boy such as Connor. The stores were stuffed with blinking and colorful things; there were Christmas carols blaring out of stores and perfumeries, people with bags filled to the brim with Christmas presents for their loved ones and the smell of cinnamon and chocolate from absolutely everywhere. It was noon, as they reached their destination in Brooklyn and thick, heavy flakes of snow were again falling from the sky. The hood of Desmond's dark gray hoodie was already covered in snow and it had collected also on Connor's own black hood and the edges of his coat's collar. He was cold and tired and his back was still aching insanely, but they managed to get to New York. They really did. And while Desmond already jumped up the stairs to a large apartment complex made of the classic red bricks he had seen in Boston too, Connor was still in awe. New York was like a whole other world than Boston to him. It was like straight out of the movies he had sometimes seen with his mother snuggled up into thick woolen blankets.

"Connor! Come on now!" Desmond suddenly chimed from the now open door of the complex, before Connor remembered how to walk and hurried up the stairs to enter the large and foreign building too. It smelled a bit unpleasant in the stairwell of the complex. It smelled like a mix of piss, cold curry, burned food and dirty laundry. Connor was a bit intimidated, while he followed Desmond up the stairs, hearing noise from absolutely everywhere around him. He could hear a man yell inside one of the flats they passed, but he was not able to understand the language. It sounded a bit like Indian. Maybe that was the flat where the smell of curry came from (though it was a cliché and Connor did not like clichés). From another flat on the second floor, loud music was blaring onto the hallway and there was a middle-aged and clearly absolutely enraged woman slamming her fists against the door from where the noise was coming. Her door (at least Connor guessed it was her door) was right opposite from the one she was banging against and standing wide open. He could hear the faint crying of one or maybe even two children and the barking of a dog.

They climbed up further and Desmond seemed not to notice any of those things at all or decided to ignore them when they finally reached the fourth floor. "Careful!" Desmond warned when he needed to climb over a little tricycle that was parked directly in front of the stairs as if to barricade them in the case of unwelcome intruders. "Who is this friend of yours again?" Connor asked carefully when he bridged the distance between him and Desmond.

"Oh, Altaїr? He was my best friend in school when we were still living here." - So around the age of five to seven - "I visited him often during the past years. He's a great guy and two years older than me. You'll like him. His boyfriend though is a bit weird from time to time. Soldier got wounded in combat."

" _Boyfriend_?" Connor asked quietly - apparently too quietly for the surrounding noise, because Desmond gave no answer to that, only stopped in front of the door of his apparent _best friend's_ flat and knocked as hard as he could. It took a moment - Connor could hear music inside the flat, but not nearly as loud as a few stories down - and then he heard a lock being opened. The music inside the flat had stopped. The door was not opened fully, for a small chain was blocking the way for any intruder and through the crack between door and doorframe he could see a face. It was definitely a man, one with sun-kissed skin and amber eyes like Connor had never seen before. He could clearly use a shave and a haircut too. His messy hair was apparently half-heartedly hidden underneath a possibly self-made gray beanie. First, the man looked at Connor, clearly confused, but when his eyes darted to Desmond his face lit up and he door was closed right in Connor's face. He could hear the sound of the chain being pulled back and then the door opened fully.

The stranger was only wearing dark blue baggy jeans and a gray tank top and no wonder so, for in his flat it was summer. Connor began sweating profusely the moment the door was being opened when a wall of heat slammed right in his face.

"Desmond!" The man exclaimed, his voice deep and a bit scruffy before he pulled Desmond into a probably bone crushing hug. "I didn’t expect you so early! I would have tidied up a bit!" Connor could not help but look past the man inside the flat and for all he could see, the flat seemed to be the cleanest place on earth. But maybe that was only the hallway.

"Yes, we managed to pull through quite quickly." Desmond laughed before the man gently pushed him inside the flat and then looked at Connor. He was very tall, something which Connor only now really realized. Of course, he was eighteen or something and clearly not the tallest guy in the world, but he was towering over Connor quite impressively.

"You must be Connor." The man - Altaїr - grinned and only then Connor noticed the thick scar he was sporting on the right corner of his mouth, going straight through both his lips. It was the very same scar Desmond had and a small voice inside his head was already sure and telling him, that they both did not get this scar by accident.

"Yes, S-Sir." Connor almost stumbled over his words, but Altaїr only laughed and patted his shoulder, before pushing him inside the flat. It really was a clean flat. There was not even the slightest hint of dust on the dark furniture! Only a ball of wool and two knitting needles were lying on the sofa together with something that looked like a half finished beanie. So it really was self-made. To Connor, it was an enigma why this guy would wear a woolen hat, but no socks inside his flat when inside his flat it was at least around 95 degrees Fahrenheit! Desmond had only once told him that his friend Altaїr was a bit weird after he had hurt his head quite badly while doing parkour once. Apparently, he had hurt his head so badly that he now had a metal plate in his skull and did not like it when people would notice the scar on the back of his head.

He was a cool guy, though. But clearly his _boyfriend_ Malik was the calm in the center of the storm that was Altaїr's life. Connor was a bit confused what Desmond might have meant when he said he was a weird guy because for the time Connor was able to spend with Malik that day, he was quite positive that Altaїr was the weird guy in this relationship.

It was already evening when Connor noticed that Malik was quite obsessed with cleaning (clearly a trait someone like Desmond was never able to understand). Malik had come home from work somewhere around afternoon and then ordered pizza for all of them. Apparently, Desmond had already informed the men that they were coming somewhere during their little adventure and neither Malik nor Altaїr seemed to mind, though Malik was adamant on keeping his mouth shut every time the topic of them running away from home came up. Surely he was that kind of guy who did not approve of such things. Though Malik tried not to discuss why they ran away from home, Connor enjoyed talking to him. He really had a calming influence on people around him and for Connor, it was hard to believe that a man like him was a soldier. Apparently, he almost lost his left arm due to a gunshot and was since recovering and building up strength. He had not full control over the arm yet, but it was improving greatly, though still a bit clumsy and stiff. His goal was it to go back on duty as soon as possible while Altaїr clearly did not like that idea.

Later that day Connor also learned that both men were in the army by now, but Altaїr was still in basic training, for Malik was a few years older. Connor had never come into contact with … _gay_ people. He had never been into an apartment complex like this either. And though he did not like the building, he really liked this weird gay couple and he could understand why Desmond wanted to come here. They even got to take a bath (one after another), before falling into their makeshift beds. While Desmond was occupying the couch, Malik had built a little nest for Connor out of an old mattress and blankets on the living room floor.

It was quiet inside the flat when Connor turned around in his nest and wrapped his arms around his pillow. He missed his plush wolf. His mother gave it to him when he was born. Back then the bloody thing had been bigger than he, but it was his companion ever since and he could hardly sleep without it. It seemed now he needed to adjust to that thought, right?

"Des? Are you still awake?" Connor quietly asked. He did not want to disturb anyone after he had been told that Altaїr and Malik liked to get up very early to go on their jogging rounds together. At least Malik had fixed the broken heater when he came home and now it was pleasantly cool inside the living room.

First, there was no response at all from Desmond and Connor thought that he was already sleeping, but then a small grunt. "Yeah?" His friend mumbled.

"What are we going to do now?" Connor asked, though he already had a plan. Now it only needed to proof that it was as good as one of Desmond's.

"I'm staying, Altaїr knows a guy where I could learn being a barkeeper." Desmond yawned and he heard the rustling sound of a blanket being pulled higher. "But I'm assuming you plan on moving on."

Connor curled up a bit more. Malik had helped him with the wounds on his back. Apparently, he knew a thing or two about how to treat wounds like that and Connor would rather not want to know why. Malik had not said anything about it and Connor had not wanted to explain those wounds either. Now his back was at least a little bit better and the clothes he had gotten from Desmond were hanging over the heater near the balcony after Altaїr had washed them because of the coke _accident_.

"I think, I'm going to London."


	10. Chapter 10

Maybe London was quite the big goal for a small boy to aim for, but on the other hand, Connor Ratonhnhaké:ton Kenway was no _small boy_ any longer. He decided, that today was the day he was becoming a _man_. The only thing he could hope for was, that the rest of the world would agree on that with him.

\--------------

"New York." Haytham repeated at last, though he was still not sure if he had heard the voice on the other side of the line correctly. New York. Apparently, his son and Desmond had somehow made it to _New York_. It was the second day of his son being missing now. The second day. Though said day had only just started, Haytham already felt the ants crawling underneath his skin. Last time his son had been seen alive by some stranger was somewhere around five in the morning in some train headed to New York when he and Desmond left the train in New Haven. That was the last trace the police got, after checking in with the security of the train station in New Haven for the material of the surveillance cameras. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am sure." William Miles spat. "That’s the only logical place my idiot son would go to and your son will follow after him like a puppy!" Well, of course, that was indeed true, but:

"My son is no obedient dog, you racist piece of-"

"I'm on my way to New York now. The police informed their colleagues in New York too to look for those boys. You can join if you want to." For one long moment, Haytham was completely silent, though his heart was still raging in his chest, his breath still shallow and fast and his left fist still clenched so hard his bones were hurting. He knew he reacted absolutely incoherently and illogically and he knew that Bill knew and they both knew that he did it because he was worried sick for a child that might not even be his own.

He could not go on like this. He was Haytham Edward Kenway, heir to the _E. Kenway and son(s) Cooperation_. He had a name to be proud of, a heritage to keep up and extend into the next generations. He had a reputation! He could not behave like this just because some stupid teenage boy who claimed to be his son ran away from home after he had been beaten bloody by his teacher and possibly sexually molested by the very same teacher and was now missing for soon to be forty-eight hours.

 _You know what you should do, Haytham?_ , the voice inside his head suddenly chimed in. _You should stay at home and take care of business. That is exactly what you should do. Let the boy run around in New York City until he will understand, that he cannot survive on his own without money and then he will eventually come home anyway, right? However, this time you will not let him in again, but deliver him to his grandmother again so she can thoroughly spank him! That is exactly what this kid deserves and what you should do, Haytham!_ "Pick me up in half an hour; I need to take care of a few things first."

\-------

Never in his fifteen-year-old life would Connor have thought that he would do so many things he had never done before in such a short time period. However, now he found himself doing the next thing he had never done before after he had already run away from home, took a train, dodged the fare, hitchhiked and visited New York to sleep in the home of a couple of gay strangers. As if his life could not get any stranger, he found himself in the subway of New York City.

It was dirty, it stunk, and Connor felt even smaller than he had felt before. He had left the apartment around noon with Desmond after Malik and Altaїr had made sure them boys would get a proper breakfast before they had left for work again. "Are you sure you are alright?" Desmond asked when they stopped at the platform Connor's subway would arrive in a few minutes as the display of the info point told them.

"I think so." Connor said and he really wished he would sound more confident than he did, but it was to no use. He could hardly force the slight tremble out of his voice when he spoke. He did not want that Desmond thought he needed to accompany him on this path. He had decided to run away all by himself after all and thus he needed to manage to get to London all by himself too. He had done it before! He had left his home before and managed to find his father – just to run away from him too. Well, maybe his ideas were not always the best or would lead him to the most favorable outcome for that matter. Maybe he would not get along with his grandfather too if he would manage to sneak onto a plane that was.

"How are you even planning on getting on a plane?" Desmond sighed and he wished he did not, for that was a question Connor did not know how to even answer. Of course, he needed money to get to London, but he was sure he would manage to somehow. First, though, he needed to find out how much money he would need. Hell, maybe he should stay with Desmond for a while, try to earn a bit of money to leave. He could call his grandpa and ask him to help him out. However, surely his father had already informed him about Connor's disappearance, right?

"Well, I don’t know yet, but I'll find a way."

"I don’t think that this is such a good idea really." Desmond sighed before he started rummaging in his backpack and pulled out his wallet. "Here take that. I'm sure this will suffice for a ticket to London at least." The older boy finally explained, when he carefully pushed a few bucks in Connor's hand and gave his best to do it as inconspicuous as possible for the people around them on the crowded platform. Connor looked at the money in surprise.

"Dude!" He exclaimed, but when Desmond flashed him a glare, he lowered not only his voice but also his gaze. While Desmond was looking around to see if anyone would watch them (maybe a civil cop suspecting them to deal with drugs or thinking the money could be stolen). "Where did you get that from?" Had he all that money the whole time? They could have bought train tickets with that! They would not have needed to hitchhike!

"I got it from Altaїr."

"Did you steal that from him? Desmond! You can't do that!" Connor whispered and now it was him, who was looking around frantically, while his whole body was tensing and growing hot and cold at the same time.

"No!" Desmond growled. "Of course not! I would never steal from my friends you idiot! I explained the situation to him and he gave it to me." Maybe Connor really wanted to believe him and that was why he chose to do exactly that, maybe he believed him because he had met Altaїr. While Malik was the more responsible guy in this relationship (which not meant that Altaїr was irresponsible - oh hell no!), who would have sent them boys home immediately under different circumstances, Altaїr apparently knew what it meant to run away from home and to have a damn good reason to get as far away from home as possible. He seemed to have a bit of a weak point for runaways like them.

"What did you say to him that he gives you so much money?" Connor asked quietly before he clenched his fist around the money and then shoved it into his pocket. Normally he would have hesitated, but here in public he rather not drew suspicion towards them.

"Well, I told him that you were abused - as you were! - and that your father would not help or even listen to you. That is the truth, right? You said it yourself! You have said that he has laughed when you told him!" Desmond blurted, though he did his best in keeping his voice down. This was nothing everyone around them needed to hear and though Connor wanted to protest and maybe even protect his father, he could not. Desmond was right, this was the truth. His father had not listened to him; instead, he had allowed this to happen for an entire week. He had not cared enough for his own flesh and blood to be concerned about the things Connor had told him. However, then again he had not tried to talk to him again. He had not tried to explain the situation. He had not given him a second chance.

"But my dad-"

"No, Connor! You do not need to defend him or his behavior towards you. I know your dad and he is just like mine! They are assholes and they do not care about us. I know what you are thinking right now, but you do not need to give him a second chance! Maybe you could have talked to him again, of course, but he would not have listened anyway! What happened was not your fault, Connor and he failed to protect you, he failed to listen to you and to take you serious enough to be at least worried for your safety. You have done nothing wrong, he has!" Desmond was a pretty laid-back person normally, but Connor had already experienced his fierce anger towards the principal, his own father, or Connor's father - or really any adult or parent figure for that matter. He seemed to love his mother dearly, but during the short time, he knew him, Connor had already understood that there was something that was fueling Desmond's rage towards his father, about which Desmond would not even talk to him. It was obvious to him by now, but he would not ask because Desmond would not answer and maybe this was not the right place to discuss something like this anyway.

Therefore, he nodded quietly and shuffled his feet. He was still wearing Desmond's clothes, with the hood of the coat his father bought him pulled over his long hair. Desmond was quite tall for a sixteen-year-old while Connor felt incredibly small and frail. This needed to stop. He was on his own now, for he already heard the train entering the platform. He had made his decision not only yesterday, he had made his decision the day his mother died, to leave his home and start a new life. So now, he needed to man up, right?

"Alright…" He sighed. "I sent you the money back as soon as I'm with my grandpa, I promise." Connor then stated when he pushed up his chin and Desmond grinned at him sheepishly, though Connor could still see the underlining emotion that drove Desmond to those harsh words before in his eyes.

"Don’t worry about that, little wolf. Don’t forget I will be a famous bartender soon." With that, he gave him a gentle push towards the train that was now opening the doors. "Go on now, your adventure is waiting." He smirked and though Connor felt as if he had not nearly enough time to say goodbye, he stumbled with the masses into the subway.

Connor felt uprooted, to say the least when he finally sat down on a free spot on the subway. He was surrounded by all kinds of people and yet he had never felt more alone. Suddenly he was very well aware of the fact that no one around him knew him or wanted to talk to him or would bat a lash if something would happen to him. Maybe he should have stayed with Desmond. He did not feel safe around here. He did not like being surrounded by all those strange people on this dirty tube. It was not as if he was niminy-piminy and could not stand the real world's dirt, but … it was a whole new world for a kid like him, who had been raised almost entirely in a rather secluded area within the woods! This right here was something he had normally only ever seen on TV with his mom and he never really dared to believe that this was indeed real. It _was_ real. It was as real as it could get.

For quite a while, Connor spent his time looking around and watching the other passengers as politely as he could. There was an elderly woman sitting a few seats down, closer to the door, knitting away her time in the form of a blue scarf she was making. Probably a Christmas present for someone, Connor assumed. She got on the subway when he did, almost one hour ago and tomorrow morning someone would get surprised with this self-made scarf. Connor had always liked self-made presents - maybe because in their community there had hardly ever been other kinds of presents. He had never liked the way other people (outside their community) celebrated the fest. He had never liked all those kids demanding high-tech goods from their presents, like Dudley Dursley from Harry Potter. He had never quite understood why they were celebrating Christmas anyway in their village, but they always did and as a child, he never questioned it. Maybe this was more to give their kids a sense of normality around the other people they met in school when they would brag about their Christmas presents and the good time they spent during the holidays. Maybe it was just an excuse to just celebrate _something_ and have a nice time out from work.

The wool looked nice and fluffy, however when the old lady noticed that he was staring at her, she flashed him a small glance as if he was a total freak for looking at her wool like this. Was he now imagining things or was she really cramming up her things a bit tighter to her body? Did he really look so dangerous?

A bit embarrassed Connor looked down on his feet first, feeling the heat creeping up his cheeks already before he spared his own reflection in the window of the train a short glance. Outside the train in the tunnel, there were only darkness and his own pale reflexion accompanying him. Malik had taken care of his injuries yesterday after the oh so desired bath he had been allowed to take at those stranger's home. Connor had only rarely met such friendly and openhearted people - well, with exception of the old man Achilles. He still felt a bit bad that he had left him without a word, but he had gone back afterward after things had been _settled_ with his father to apologize and because his father had wanted to meet the man and thank him for his hospitality towards his stupid son. That had been the first time, Haytham had really acknowledged him as his son in such a rather parental way. Well, that had not lasted very long he assumed, shortly afterward his father had decided parenting meant to be as little with one's child as possible.

To Connor, it was still so weird how friendly Malik and Altaїr were. Altaїr really was a bit insane, just as Desmond told him, telling the weirdest stories about his time as a free runner and parkour artist, but Malik had assured him they were indeed true and not fabrications of the brain injury of which Desmond had told him before. It had turned out Malik had lately begun studying medicine during his rehab after this injury. Before he had gotten injured he had been a sniper for the army. Apparently, he now wanted to become a medic, but now with his arm injured so badly a career as a surgeon was nearly impossible. Still, he knew quite a lot about medicine and had even worked part time as a lifeguard - and thanks to living with Altaїr for quite a while, he knew a thing or two about treating injuries, as Malik had stated while he had cleaned up Connor's wounds properly last evening. Now a band-aid was covering the small cut on his cheek where the cane had hit him that evening in Pitcairn's office.

His hair was a mess, but he did not look like a thug he supposed. However, when he looked in the direction of the old lady again, she was again looking at him suspiciously and then down on her work. Connor sighed. Now that he was alone, he had time to really contemplate what had been happening lately. During his time with Desmond, he only rarely had time to think about everything, for Desmond had filled every opportunity to overthink with chatter and new glorious ideas. Desmond was normally not _that_ chatty and energetic, but since they left his parents house he had been as if to distract Connor from the dark thoughts looming over his head like a cloud - as if he would exactly know how he was feeling.

Now that he had time to think about it, he had no clue why Desmond wanted to run away. Well, yes, he said it was because of his father and Connor knew that they were arguing quite a lot, maybe even more than he and his own father, but he doubted that this was the sole reason. He seemed to like his mother and was that not reason enough to stay?

Again, the old lady looked at him with furrowed brows and Connor rolled his eyes. He was getting tired of this real fast, but it took him not long to realize that she was not even looking at _him_ in particular. Oh no, she was looking past him and in the next moment, he knew why. First, he had been so lost in thought that he had not realized the noise around him, maybe because of the screeching of the train in the tube, which was so unfamiliar to him, but now he realized the chaos and got up by instinct. A group of young men (well probably just teenagers) was on the train and when Connor stood up to walk in the direction of the old lady and stepped into the next doorway, he could spare them a short glance. He had seen people like these before (mainly on TV but also at his school) and he immediately knew that they meant trouble. They were wearing jeans hanging so low on their bodies Connor was utterly amazed they did not fall to the ground to leave them butt naked. They were exactly those stereotypical troublemakers as Connor had seen in sitcoms before, only that this was not a sitcom and he felt nervous being with them in the same train even.

Those boys were loudly bragging about something, while walking slowly through the train, harassing the people they walked past and for a few moments Connor just watched as they sat next to a young girl, annoying her, nagging her, tugging on the book she was reading in this very ugly way some men would do when seeing a pretty girl. One was loudly demanding her mobile number, another wanted to know her name and the girl was clearly uncomfortable. Nobody was doing a thing! Connor could not believe it! There were other people sitting nearby watching or flat out ignoring the scene while that young girl was being harassed by those guys and not a single person thought it necessary to stand up and help her! Why was the old lady not getting up and poking her knitting needles into the eye of one of them? Why was the man in his black suit nearby not saying anything? Why was the lady sitting behind that girl not standing up for her?

Did they all really think she would manage to help herself? She was sixteen at the most and all alone on the train! Shortly Connor glanced at his feet. He shouldn’t get involved. He was only fifteen and those guys eighteen, maybe, nineteen, maybe even twenty! They were bigger than he was in growth and muscle! However, when he heard the girl finally phrasing her helplessness in an attempt to get some attention and maybe help from the other passengers, Connor was moving without his brain's command. No, his brain was already on its way to Hawaii, it wanted nothing to do with his current state of utter idiocy or this attempted suicide of his!

"Leave her alone." Connor growled as he stepped close enough so those thugs could hear him. First, one of them just glanced at him with a snarl, but was about to grab the girl's hand again (to do whatever with it), when Connor grabbed his arm. "I said _leave her alone_ , you asshole." He was dead. Oh yes. A dead man walking.

"Look what we've got here." One of the young men finally sighed and got up, shortly followed by his friends. "A savage boy playing the hero. What's your problem man? We just wanted to have a little fun with Emma here!"

"She does not want to have fun with you, so just let it go and walk off." Connor snarled. It was not quite as easy to stand his ground in front of a group of five teenage boys like these. Everything about them nearly screamed that they were ready to punch his teeth in!

"Well, maybe you want to have fun with us then?" One of them, apparently their _leader_ , grinned when he grabbed him by the collar of his coat, but Connor did not flinch or took a step back. No, he could not afford any sign of weakness.

"No, I don’t." He growled in a deep voice, but before the boy in front of him could do anything else, the next stop was announced and the girl (Emma) got up to sneak away as it seemed.

"Well, that’s a pity. Look at this savage, guys! Looks like his mom banged a rich white man, right? Look at this coat dude!" Well, yes, having the name of a fucking expensive brand stitched onto his clothes was probably not always so wise. "Suddenly I feel so cold! Give me your jacket and maybe I let you go."

The train was slowly nearing the next station and Emma was in the doorway ready to escape when finally the man in the suit stepped in. "Guys I think you had more than enough fun with those children." He stated loudly and this time everyone was looking at them. Why had he not spoken up earlier? Why not when this girl had been molested? No matter his reasons, when the boys were distracted by the man, Connor took his chance and slipped away just as the doors were opened. He had no clue where to go. He did not know New York! He did not even know where he was now! Was he even near his destination?

"Hey! Savage!" Connor started running without thinking twice, though his whole body was still screaming in agony. He could not see Emma anymore, she seemed to have gotten away safely (without even thanking him for stepping in and risking his life!), but for Connor, only running was now of importance. He turned right to where stairs were leading up to the streets and ran as fast as he could, the group of thugs at his heels, cursing about his stupidity for getting involved like this! Why did he never learn from his mistakes? It should have been a lesson when he punched Daniel Cross before!

When he left the station it was already getting dark again, though it was only afternoon and the snow had begun to fall anew, making it a bit harder to keep his eyes open and focused on the way he was running. He ran blindly through the narrow streets he had arrived in, past strangers, which looked puzzled at him and into a park. He was trying to run in zick-zack lines, hoping this way he would lose his pursuers, but they seemed to be persistent. They were hunters and he was their prey for this evening, only for being dumb.

He was already feeling exhausted and weak and he knew he could not go on much longer. He should try to find a café or shop he could sneak into! It should not even come to this, for finally, Connor lost his footing when he stepped on a rather slippery spot on the snow and stumbled to the ground. Well, fuck.

\-------

New York was even colder than Boston when they arrived late in the day. It was the twenty-fourth of December and people were running through the streets as if the apocalypse had just been announced to get the last presents for their loved ones, though some of them were carrying bags of groceries as if they were really stacking up their supplies just in case of zombies or a blizzard. They arrived on the early afternoon and went straight to the police, after the cops in Boston told him where to go and to whom to speak. The police here in New York was not of big help to them, though. They said their _hands were bound_ , for at least Desmond was already sixteen and since there was no indication of a crime, they could not do much about this. In Haytham's eyes, this was just being abhorrently lazy. They had spent a good amount of time on the police station, filing yet another report on their missing boys, but left without a hint of where to look for them.

Around one, PM Haytham had come to the conclusion that Bill Miles was even worse as a father than he was. The guy did not even know if his son still had friends in New York! He knew nothing about his son apparently! He on the other hand… _Well, Connor has just one friend and that is Desmond. Well, no, actually that is not true. What's his name again? This native boy! Kanen… something. He is Connors friend, right?_

However, no matter what a bad father Bill Miles was, at least he was quite the surveillance fan and a true control freak. On their way to New York, he proudly admitted to him that he had already installed an app that allowed him to track his son's phone a while ago - which had not helped them since Desmond's phone had been shut off just as Connor's. That was at least until around two PM on that day, because that was when Desmond Miles turned his phone on for whatever stupid reason. It took ten minutes until he seemingly recognized his error and shut it off again. Surely, he knew that his father would hunt him down otherwise, but it had sufficed to get a location and this was why, around half past two, they arrived in Brooklyn.

When they rang the doorbell to the apartment it took a while, during which nothing at all happened. Getting into the building had not been hard at all, for the door had been wide open anyway. When they arrived at the location, it had taken them a bit to find the right address for the six-story houses all looked the same. At least Bill recognized the name of Desmond's childhood friend on the doorbell panel as it seemed (though since it was a rather difficult name, it was quite hard to forget, he would assume), so this was a plus. However, after Haytham and Bill had explored story for story of said house and finally found the right door, Desmond and Connor were playing dead behind that very door - if they were in fact still behind that door. Maybe they had gone out after noticing Desmond's mistake, just in case, which would make those boys a whole lot more clever than both Haytham and Bill expected of them by now.

Bill rang again and Haytham pressed his ear to the door. He could hear movement inside the flat. It was very quiet but sounded a bit like someone was shuffling through a room, maybe pacing back and forth. When Haytham looked at Bill, he nodded sharply and Bill began thundering his fist against the door. "DESMOND! OPEN UP I AM WITH THE POLICE! IF YOU DON'T WANT THEM TO BREAK DOWN THIS DOOR, YOU BETTER OPEN IT!" Bill yelled and again pressed the doorbell. Of course, they were not with the police, but maybe Desmond was dumb enough to buy into his dad's lie.

For just another long moment, nothing happened inside the flat or around them at all, but then, finally there was shuffling behind that door and then the sound of a lock carefully being opened, before then, finally, two hazel brown eyes were peeking through the crack in the door. Stupid boy had not even the chain in place that normally was serving as a safety measure. It was not Connor, that was the first thing his stressed out brain noticed. It was not his son.

"What do you want?" Desmond snarled when he opened the door just a tiny bit wider, but that was before Haytham grabbed the door and shoved it open. He did not care that he nearly hit Desmond in the head. If the boy did not manage to get away quickly enough, it was his very own fault, but Desmond stumbled backward and hissed in annoyance, as Haytham barged in.

"CONNOR!" He yelled into the flat looking around (probably like a maniac) before he stomped on. "CONNOR KENWAY show yourself immediately!" He almost waited to hear the sound of someone scrambling to get out a window, but he did not hear something like this and he did not hear any noise other than his own stomping feet and the discussion that was erupting behind him, between the Miles men. He did not hesitate to shove his head into the various rooms he came across, but there was no trace of his boy.

"He is not here anymore, okay?" Desmond finally growled at him, when Haytham turned to walk back to that brat that had brought his son to do such stupid things like running away from home! Surely, it had been Desmond's idea in the first place! His son had no reason to run away from home like this, had he?

"Where is he?" Haytham growled and he shoved Bill to the side, when the older male tried to step between Haytham and his son, only so that Haytham could grab Desmond by the collar of his shirt. "Where is my son? What nonsense have you told him that he would run away from home like this?"

Desmond managed to shake him off if only with the help of his own father who came to his aide in front of the raging father Desmond was confronted with. "I didn’t need to talk him into this! _He_ said he wanted to run away and I can hardly blame him!" Desmond snapped and hastily stepped back a bit. He was now in the living room of whoever was living here.

"What do you mean, boy?" Haytham growled when he followed Desmond. Suddenly he felt like ripping this boy's head off if he would not immediately tell him where his son was. "My son had no reason to run away from home with you! In your case, I can understand, but Connor has everything he needs!"

Of course, Bill protested loudly, but he was wise enough not to interfere. "Oh is that so? So then why did he run away?" Desmond yelled. "Maybe because his father is a total dickhead! He even told you that Pitcairn has beaten him and you are really saying you cannot understand why he decided on running away with me? Are you really this retarded? Or do you think he wouldn’t have deserved any better?"

Haytham bit his tongue and he could feel his jaw harden like diamond. "What do you even know about this?" He hissed, ashamed that a bratty sixteen-year-old teenager apparently knew more about the troubles his son had needed to face than he.

"Oh just about everything! Unlike you, I might add, because you do not care enough for your son to protect him against this asshole Pitcairn! And my own dad is no better! This fucker abused Connor and humiliated him for the entire week and none of you has done something about it! But now you are really surprised that the both of us decided to run away?"

Haytham wanted to punch him. This was a thought that did not occur to him very often, but now right in this moment he just wanted to punch this teenager in the fucking mouth. Mainly because he was right. Connor did tell him about the initial caning on Monday, but Haytham had not thought it to be a big deal. He was no better than Bill Miles apparently.

"Desmond" William finally chimed in, maybe he thought his cousin would otherwise punch out his son's teeth. "Where is Connor? You’ve got to tell us where he is. He is only fifteen years old, so just tell us."

Desmond set his jaw and it was quite clear to Haytham that he was not going to talk. Apparently, he would much rather take this secret to the grave instead – but then a sigh, assign of capitulation from the boy. "I don’t know where he is now exactly, but he wanted to go to London. That was his plan, so I just brought him to a subway station nearby and told him where he needs to go."

"To London?" Haytham asked almost with a surprised squawk to his tone. Of course, he wanted to go to his grandfather apparently. Maybe this made sense in Connor's mind, he guessed. He and his grandfather got along pretty well whenever the old man had visited them in the past two months since Connor was living in his house. Surely, he thought he would have a grand old time with his grandpa over there in Great Britain. "With what money?"

"Well, I gave him money." Desmond snorted, but now it was good old Bill chiming in once again.

"What money? Where did you get enough money for a trip to London?" He growled. "Didn’t you use all your money for cigarettes?" Of course, Bill knew about this habit of his son. "Or for pot? Yes, don’t look at me like this, Desmond! Of course, I know that you're smoking weed!"

Desmond was clearly furious, but Haytham did not really care anyway where Desmond got the money from. He just went back to the door. "I'm going to take a taxi to the airport, you two do whatever you think is right."

When he arrived at the JFK International airport, it was already dark outside. The traffic had been a pure and utter disaster and though he was quite used to be stuck on the highway home in Boston, right now he was quite on edge. He did not know how his son was thinking he was getting to the airport, but if he had already managed to arrive there, he could already be on his merry way, right? He was just about to get out of the car when suddenly his phone rang in his pocket.

When he looked down on his phone and saw the number on the display, he did not recognize it, but he took the call anyway and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He asked before there was a small little sob on the other side of the phone, which made his heart clench quite heavily. "Connor?" He asked a bit more alarmed and he ignored the annoyed look the driver of the taxi shot him.

"Dad", finally an answer out of that boy, though he sounded so small and devastated all of the sudden that Haytham himself felt as if he was going to panic.

"Where are you? I come and get you."


	11. Chapter 11

 Never in his life had he felt more alone than he felt now in that moment as he found himself in a snow covered park in the middle of New York City. The group of thugs which had followed him out of the train station had taken his backpack and his coat – even his scarf and left him out here in the cold, probably thinking a wealthy boy like he would just get home and get pampered by his parents again. In their eyes, they had not done any really damage, that was for sure. In their eyes, they had stolen from a rich kid, which had probably a dozen of expensive coats like this one. However, Connor now had lost all he had, even his phone, but most importantly the only photo he had of his parents being together – being happy.

He was hurting all over, when he got up from the ground and walked slowly through the thick layers of snow covering the ground. Of course, he was shivering violently under the cold and the harsh wind blowing into his face, making his skin burn and tingle. All around in the city, people were making preparations for the next morning, for Christmas, but he was all alone. He spotted a big yellow and very old school telephone booth not far away, right beside the public restrooms and though he hesitated for a moment, he still walked on. Inside the telephone booth, it was still cold and it stunk of piss and vomit, though it seemed clean. At least the wind was not bothering him anymore if just for a moment. Maybe out of a reflex he grabbed the phone and then hesitated. He had a few coins still in his jeans pocket – well, actually it was Desmond's coins, for it was Desmond's jeans.

However, who was he going to call? Who would even care? He could call Desmond and ask him to pick him up, wherever he was, but Desmond surely had his phone shut off still and he did not know the number of Altaїr or Malik. He could not call them anyway after they did so much for him already – even lend him their money to go to London! He could call his grandpa, but he was so far away that it would be quite pointless to call him, right? He could call his father, but first of all that would mean that he had failed miserably and needed his daddy's help to get home again and second of all, he did not believe that his father even wanted him back. Surely, he was glad that Connor was gone. Surely, he did not even search for him, unlike Desmond's parents surely. He had it good. Connor was sure that at least his father cared enough to look for his son if only to triumph over his stubborn child. However, he had a mother who loved him, who surely wanted him home safely and whom Desmond loved dearly. A mother who surely did never lie to Desmond or withheld valuable information, which could change Desmond's whole life.

His very own father always kept his skepticism about him. He never quite believed that he was indeed his father. Some might say it was out of self-protection, but Connor was sure it was because he simply did not want to be his father. He did not want him right from the start. He had scared him away numerous times before he finally gave in and probably he did so only because of his grandpa Edward who somewhat forced him to. Maybe he would have been better off if his father – if Haytham – would have brought him back home to his tribe instead. Maybe they simply should not be together; maybe that was how the gods had decided on his fate.

He could call his grandma Oiá:ner of course. He could call his uncle or his cousin Kanen'tó:kon. Of course he could and of course, they would come to get him. They would, wouldn’t they? His grandma would surely force his uncle to come and get him and bring him home safely again, but that was not what he wanted. He did not want to be anywhere, where he was not welcome. Where he was disliked. His tribe disliked him since the day he was born and they had let him feel it with every passing minute. His mother had often argued with the others about him when they would come to her and claim he had done something wrong. His mother had always been on his side, had always tried to protect him. However now she was gone.

She was gone and he was all alone with no one who cared for him. No one he could call. No one who would pick him up. When he started his journey a few months ago and left his village in the middle of the night, he had never expected that his little adventure would end like this. He had thought he would go and look for his father, that he would find him and that he would live with him, as they should have done before. He had thought everything would be just fine and exactly how it was supposed to be. He had never thought about the possibility of his father being a total dickface, who did not want anything to do with him. And now, as he leaned his forehead against the phone, he felt incredibly stupid. It was not just that his father hated him, which he never thought to be possible. He could have been married. He could have had a family of his own by now. Connor could have ruined a family with coming to him as he did. He could have ruined his life just because he existed.

He surely had ruined his mother's life, had he not? She never said it, but by now, Connor knew that she had been an outcast of their tribe because of him. The others never accepted her to have a mixed-blood baby. As a child, he had not understood the cuss words they acknowledged him with, but now as a teenager he certainly did and now he understood why his mother had always been so outraged about it. He had never quite understood why they were not living like the other members of their tribe. They were a very close knitted community and they were living like that too, always helping one another, always trying their best so that everyone would have a good life. They, Connor and his mother, however, had always lived a bit more secluded in their little house near the shore of the lake. He had loved that. He had loved the quietude he could enjoy with his mother, the attention he got from her, but now at least he knew that this was not how it had supposed to be. She never gave him the fault for anything of course. She could have aborted him after all. It was not as if he had asked for this.

And now she was dead.

She was dead and she just left him here. The other members of the tribe had hardly taken care of her, not the way they were supposed to do when a member of the tribe got sick. It had been Connor running around, asking them for help or if they could drive into the city to get her medicine and it had been only because of his grandma that the others had done as he had asked of them. He would not say they would have let her die willingly. Connor knew that she had been very sick and that she herself had not wanted the treatment she could have gotten in the city and the big hospital. He never quite understood why. Maybe she wanted to finally leave; maybe she could not stand this life any longer. Maybe she could not stand _him_ any longer. Maybe she had felt anger towards him, simply for being him, simply for being his father's son. She never told him why she left his father. They never really spoke about him and when she finally opened up to him, it had been too late. Maybe that was her revenge for him.

His face was so cold that the tears that were running down his cheeks were almost burning into his skin. Maybe his mother had hated him just as all the others, just as his father. He had been cursed right from the start, at least that was what his uncle had told him once and maybe he was right. He had never found the time to really grief his mother's death. There were too many things happening all at once in his life and now that he finally had the time, right here in this telephone booth he could not find the strength to stop crying, before he finally, behind a veil of tears, pushed the thick buttons of the number pad and pressed the phone to his ear.

\-----------

They arrived back home just when the first neighbors were waking up with their kids running excited through their houses to see what Santa had brought them during the night. By the time the first child in the neighborhood opened their first present, Haytham was kneeling in front of his fifteen-year-old son to have a look at the cut under his chin. By the time the first ugly knitted Christmas sweater was put on, Haytham sat down heavily in front of the fireplace, with Connor by his side, curled up in numerous blankets with his plush wolf tightly in his arms. He was fast asleep by now and his face looked even somewhat at peace. In Haytham's mind, though, last night's events were still vivid.

It had not been easy to get a comprehensible answer out of Connor on the phone and yet Haytham had somehow managed to find the spot he described to him. When he had jumped out of the taxi, he had only thrown his money at the driver before he had started running towards the park. By the time he reached the park, it had been snowing quite heavily and the taxi had driven off immediately after Haytham got out of the car. It had been hard to keep his eyes open against the snow blowing into his face. "CONNOR!" He had yelled and it was not as if he was normally running around any town screaming for his lost son. This was simply nothing he would normally do, nothing he had ever expected to do in his life, but in that moment he had done exactly that and he had not wasted any second thought about it.

"CONNOR! Where are you boy?" He had not liked the worried sound that clung to his voice. It had sounded oh so unfamiliar and weird. It had felt ridiculous!  He had never felt so on edge, never so worried for another human being, however, Connor had sounded hurt and desperate and with each passing minute he had needed to spent in this taxi, he had felt more and more anxious. After all, he did not know what happened to his son!

Well, who would have thought that Haytham Kenway was even able to feel that way? It was somewhat hilarious - for other people at least. Right in that moment in that park, he had not been able to feel what could be funny about this situation, while he could hardly feel the cold air, for his body had already been frozen in horror. There was no answer, no sound, nothing that would lead him towards his son out here in the cold. Surely, Connor had stayed where he was after he had told him he would get him only a few minutes ago. Well, over half an hour had passed already and maybe he had tried to find shelter somewhere else! Maybe he had thought his father would not come for him!

He had no clue where to turn to, where to look for the stupid boy and could only try to listen for any sign of life of his boy. He had rounded the next corner to his right and by then, he had almost been running, though carefully to not fall on the slippery ground. "CONNOR!" He had tried yet again and then finally he had been able to spot a small figure sitting - cowering - in the shadows of the public restrooms of the park, right next to a telephone booth only lit by the neon lights of the telephone booth and the ones over the doors of the restrooms so that people in need could find their way even in the darkness.

First, he had not even seen this black blotch sitting on a spot of snow-free ground, but after he first noticed it, he had been able to make out a few more details of the sitting figure. He could spot the knees that the person had pulled up to his chest, the slender arms wrapped around their legs, the head resting on their knees. Under different circumstances, Haytham would have wondered when the last time had been that he had sprinted towards really anything, for he would not have been able to recall such event in his life. However then, he had been flat out sprinting towards the small figure sitting there as if his life would have depended on it.

Flakes of snow had been already covering Connor's dark hair. When he had reached him, he had not wasted a second to pull him to his feet and out of a moment of utter relief and worry, he had pulled him into his arms and close to his chest and his quickly beating heart. Connor had not fought back, as Haytham would have expected him to, but the first thing Haytham had really noticed was, that he had been cold as ice. He had not been wearing a coat, not even a scarf. For one second, Haytham had felt as if he was going to try to escape his embrace, but then he had felt Connor's slender finger clasping at his thick, black, woolen coat, and his face pressing into his chest.

"They stole my backpack." The stupid child had hiccupped. "They stole mom's picture." His little hiccup, his little sob right in that moment had been heart and soul shattering even to a man such as Haytham Kenway. Later that day they had been sitting in Bill's car again. Desmond had gotten the spot on the passenger's seat and though he was pouting like a three-year-old child and though his father looked like the personification of a storm cloud, they had seemed strangely glad to be reunited again. Haytham had not cared much for them. He had only cared for Connor by his side, his head resting against Haytham's shoulder after they had wrapped him in a thick woolen blanket, which Bill always had in the trunk of his car. His son had gotten a bloody nose, but this stranger – Malik – had taken care of this immediately, when Haytham and Connor had arrived back at the flat of those two men. His chin had a nasty cut and surely a few more bruises would start to show in a few hours. Apparently, a group of thugs had had nothing better to do than to torment a young teenager like Connor and steal everything he got that as of worth.

To Haytham, strangely, it had been of no importance that they had stolen from his boy. He was still alive, that was of importance. They could have done worse to him. However, he was alive and he was with him again. It had been the first time since all of this had started, that Haytham had really taken the chance to look at his son while Connor had been sleeping. It had been the first time, he put his arms around Connor to pull him closer, the first time that he had brushed his fingers through Connor's soft and almost black hair, which reminded him so much of Ziio, the first time that he had smelled him, the first time, that he had pressed a small kiss to his head, simply glad that it still was where it should be. He could have counted every little freckle on his face, even in the dim light of the car on their way through the night to Boston. Those freckles Connor got not only from his mother, Haytham knew that. He got the freckles from Haytham's mother Tessa. And his chin, he was sure of that, would be even more like Edward's chin when he would grow older. When Connor would grow up to be a man, Haytham was sure, he would look unmistakably like a Kenway. He already got some of his grandfather's features and he had the same insolent behavior. And though they only met so few times, both of them had so much in common. Sometimes, when Haytham saw them together, he felt like the odd man out, but now he knew that Connor got a lot of him too, it was only a question of time when those traits would show.

\--------

It was the first day after Christmas and thus the first day after Connor had been brought back home from his glorious flight to New York City, which he paid for with a bloody nose, split lips and a few cuts and bruises adding up to the injuries Pitcairn had caused him. Connor would have loved to state that getting along with his father had never been easier after his father had picked him up in that snowy park. Sadly, that was not the truth. After the incident, his father gave his very best to treat him with respect and with more care than he normally would, but that was all that had changed between them. Connor did not like this. His father suddenly acted as if Connor could try to run away again immediately if he would say something wrong in his presence. However, to Connor, it came as a surprise the day after Christmas, that his father stayed home and did not go to work as he usually would have.

"When is grandpa coming to visit us?" Connor asked on this very morning when he came downstairs only to find his father reading a book at the kitchen table, his face that of a man craving his work desperately. His father was not used to having so much free time on his hands and sadly, he had no clue what to make of this time too. This was something they had in common, for Connor too hated nothing more than boredom. It was only the second day his father did not attend work (well the third actually, for his father had spent the day before Christmas traveling to New York to search for him) and already he seemed on the verge of a neurotic breakdown.

"He arrives this afternoon." His father stated with a deep sigh, the frown he wore almost cemented to his face by now. "And then we will be stuck with him at least until new years." Well, Connor thought, at least then it would not be this silent in the house any longer. He liked having his grandpa here, for at least then he had someone to talk to and actually do things.

When his father picked him up in this park in New York, a part of him had felt incredibly happy. Someone came for him, someone searched for him. He had felt as if his father maybe really loved him, the moment Haytham took him into his arms, nearly crushing him, but after this first moment of just utter relief, his father had gone back to normal straight away. The ride with the taxi back to Altaїr's flat he had spent lecturing Connor, asking him about this glorious idea and what he had thought of doing anyway and the same was true for Desmond. Of course, his father would not suddenly be a man who openly admitted his failures or at least his love and worry for his son. Of course, his father would not suddenly start cuddling him or fussing over him like a worried hen. This was not the man, who his father truly was and Connor would not have wanted this anyway. Still, now that they were here again, picking up where they left off, he felt disappointed. Not once, his father had asked him about Pitcairn. Not once, had he assured him that he had nothing to fear from this asshole any longer. Not once, had he looked at his injuries. Maybe that was even harder to swallow for him. He had thought they would go to the police so that Pitcairn would finally face some consequences for his actions, but they did not. Apparently, Haytham had no interest in fighting for him against this teacher.

Why had he even come to New York to get him then?

Connor took his seat on the usual spot. Mrs. Tailor was not here for his father gave her the day off because of the holidays and her large family. Therefore, in consequence, there was no breakfast. His father had cooked nothing and only made himself a cup of coffee. "Haven't you eaten yet?" Connor sighed and glanced at the clock. It was already half past ten for Connor slept in today quite heavily. No wonder, after the things that had been happening lately.

"I am not much of a person that enjoys breakfast." Haytham stated with a snort and took a sip of his coffee before he glanced again a bit annoyed at his book as if he could not even stand reading it. To Connor, it was an enigma why he was even trying then.

"Well, I am." Connor muffled.

"So?"

"I am hungry."

"That much I understood."

"So?" Connor moaned, as his father seemingly had no interest in looking at his pouting face again.

"So what, Connor?"

"Aren't you going to make me breakfast?"

Shortly his father glanced at him again over the rim of his book. He studied Connor's messy appearance and then went back to reading straight away. "I see you have two fully functioning hands. Help yourself. After all, you wanted to run away and live on your own anyway, right? You should be capable of preparing breakfast for yourself then."

"Well…"

"Don’t say you never cooked before."

"I did! But only with… Well, with my mom!" He did not like thinking about the various mornings he had spent at his mother's side making breakfast. It were pleasant memories, but he rather forgot about all those times. Maybe this was quite unfair to his mother, maybe forgetting everything would mean he dishonored her memory, but since every bit of memory seemed to hurt him, he rather forgot about everything that concerned her.

This time Haytham at least granted him a bit more of his attention when he again looked up from his book and stared directly at him, before he rolled his eyes. "So you cannot cook." He concluded.

"I can cook!"

"Then show me!"

Connor groaned in frustration. Well, that had not gone as planned he guessed, but at least Haytham got up from his chair and closed his book. "Alright, alright, I make you breakfast but woe you complain!" Connor watched his father as he began cooking and with every passing second, he could feel his face turn greener and greener.

"What is _that_?" Connor finally found himself asking when the first plate was put down in front of him. It was an unrecognizable mesh of beans in a red sauce and a few slices of gold brown toast.

"Baked Beans on Toast." His father explained not so very helpfully.

"That's not a breakfast dish!"

"Yes, it is!" Haytham sighed and sat down with a plate of his own again.

"No it's not! Scrambled eggs are or Pancakes!"

"I told you don’t complain. I thought you were hungry, so start eating or I'll take it." For a moment Connor just stared at his father, maybe even hoping he would get something else when he would keep staring long enough, but then he gave up and sighed in annoyance (and a bit in disgust too) and started eating. It was not as bad as he would have thought, but the slight grin he noticed on his father's way too smug face, made it almost acid-like.

"You are bored, aren't you? You are not used having spare time." Connor remarked briefly, looking up from his plate.

"What makes you think that? Are you implying I don’t know what to do with me?"

"I do not imply. I have established that as a fact."

"Oh, so you established that as a fact, now, have you?" Haytham snorted. "So what are you proposing shall I do then?"

"We could take a walk." Taking a walk with his only son seemed a foreign concept to his father as Connor later fully understood, after they left the house in their warmest clothes. He was sure that his father had taken a walk before, but now that they were out in the snow-covered landscape of his father's quite secluded house, he seemed completely overwhelmed just from walking.

"You look as though you never walked in your life." Connor stated with a smirk half hidden behind his thick blue and white striped scarf, while he was slowly walking on through the thick snow on the ground. The scarf was the last Christmas present, he got from his mother and gladly he had not worn it when he went to New York. His mother had spent all her free time knitting it, even got the _Ravenclaw_ emblem from eBay to stitch it to his scarf, for he had always been such a huge Harry Potter nerd. He had not yet gotten any Christmas presents from his father. However, at least they were taking a walk together now and he liked that. As a child, he had always run outside as soon as the first snow had started falling, often even in his pajamas.

"Silence, boy." His father snarled. "Or I leave you out here."

"Yes, I would not put that past you." Connor snickered while he marched on a bit. It felt weird simply taking a walk with his father as if nothing at all had happened between them. They had not talked about anything and it seemed that they would not do it either. It was uncomfortable for the both of them surely.

For a few moments, there was only silence, interrupted by the heavy shuffling steps of his father and his boots, until he heard how the man walking behind him cleared his throat and Connor's spine grew stiff. He knew this sound. It was the sound of a parent, preparing themselves for an uncomfortable conversation. "Connor" He began in a tone that made it unmistakably clear that by now Haytham had somewhat embraced his new role as a father. "We have not yet spoken about it, I know that, but I really would like to know what has happened between you and Pitcairn."

"I don’t want to talk about this." Connor replied instantly without having even thought about it. That surely was only the natural instinct of a teenager, he thought.

"But we do need to talk about this Connor." His father pressed on when they walked into the little forest surrounding the area. Connor loved being inside a forest. It felt like home to him. He felt a bit more at ease in here, a bit more as if he was in control over his surroundings. It was different from the big city that was New York. No, there was no way to compare those two things with one another. The forest was solitude and harmony, the city was chaos and destruction and noise. He was glad he was back … _home_? Well, Haytham's home clearly did not feel like home to him still. Maybe he had foolishly hoped this would change, as soon as his father had grabbed him and pulled him into an almost bone-crushing hug in this snow covered park in New York City, but it had not changed anything at all. They were still the same. Still, his room in Haytham's house felt like the guest bedroom, because it was. He was his guest, not his son and Haytham apparently only waited for the day Connor would move on, maybe give up on him. They still were just strangers pretending to be father and son. Of course, his father had no reason to keep up this charade, but a part of him thought that he might do it because this way he could ensure the continuance of the E. Kenway and son(s) empire.

"I don’t think so." Connor murmured, though of course, he knew that they needed to talk about what had happened between him and Pitcairn. Still, he could not simply give up his current position either. He was just as bullheaded as is father was, sadly.

"Apparently your French teacher has seen you leaving Pitcairn's office the night you ran away from home. You were naked, he said. So, Connor, please do enlighten me: Why were you naked in a teacher's office?" Of course, his father would not let it go that easily and Connor could feel the heat creeping up in his cheeks and his neck. He even felt how his ears grew hot. He had not been aware that Mr. Dorian had seen him leaving the office of this abominable creature that was Pitcairn. What should he say now? What could he say now? Before Mr. Dorian had told his father what he had seen, it had been just a teacher beating a child. Nothing more. Now it was something entirely different, at least Connor could imagine that it was in the eyes of his father. And well, if he himself had a kid he would be furious if he would learn that a teacher had not only beaten his child but also made them undress.

"He must have been mistaken." Connor murmured and he did not even know why. His father knew the truth, Mr. Dorian had seen it. There was no point in lying, was there? Still, he could not bring himself to tell the truth or to simply admit that it was indeed true. His father's hand stopped him and made him turn around, so he could look at him. Maybe for the very first time, he could see worry – deep-rooted worry – in his father's eyes right in that moment, mixed with the hint of fear something really terrible could have happened to his child.

"I don’t think he was mistaken, Connor. I think he would not have said this if he had not been sure, after all this is a quite heavy accusation, isn’t it? Now, Connor, tell me. What has he done? Why were you naked? Has he forced you to-"

"No!" Connor exclaimed his cheeks flushed, his head hot. Of course, he knew what his father thought of the situation, but he rather not thought about this. Oh, no, no, no, no, no! His father could not possibly think that he- that Pitcairn had- _No_! "He hasn’t forced me to do anything!" He then groaned before he managed to pull free and walk on again. "He just wanted to humiliate me, even cut off a bit of my hair." He finally said. What other choice did he have anyway? If his father were at least as bullheaded as he was then he would not have given up anyway, so he might as well just say it, right?

"Tell me exactly what he did to you. Of course, I already made sure that he will no longer work as a teacher, but I do want to know about the things this despicable human being did to you." Apparently, that was the strongest reaction he would get from his father. For a man like him, this could be seen as outraged apparently.

"He belittled me." Connor shrugged his shoulders. "It's not like being insulted for being who I am would be any new for me." He then silently added, while he stared ahead, avoiding every little glance at his father strictly. "Then he started beating me and I lost it. I grabbed the cane and started beating him instead until I realized what I did and flew out of his room."

"Why haven't you told me? Why did you decide it would be better to run away from home instead of coming to me and telling me what he did to you?" Haytham asked and his voice sounded earnest, but that did not make it any better, it only told Connor that his father indeed thought he had behaved correctly before.

"I did tell you." He growled. "I told you on the very first day, but you haven't done anything, you only laughed at me!"

"Well, I didn’t know the severity of the situation! I would have done everything in my power to stop this from happening in the first place!"

"You were not even listening to me!" Connor hissed. "I told you and you started belittling me! Of course, I didn’t want to talk to you anymore after this! What did you expect really?" His father was silent and Connor took it as a small victory, that he had apparently managed to silence the man. Well, he was right, wasn’t he? His father had not listened to him after all! He had wanted to tell him what had happened (well parts of it at least), but his father had not listened to him!

"I don’t know." Haytham E. Kenway finally admitted. "I really- I am sorry, Connor. I am sorry that I did not listen to you when you told me that your teacher had caned you. I should have known that something was afoot immediately. I can only hope that you will find it in you to forgive me for this grand mistake."

This time Connor stopped on his own and stared at his father. He would have never expected such words from him. He would have not even expected an apology from him! His father again opened his mouth to say something, while he was staring at the trees behind Connor but not at all at his son. Apparently, he felt uncomfortable admitting his guilt, however, something else attracted Connor's attention. There was a silent whimper somewhere in the woods.

"Connor I-"

"Psssht!" Connor made and raised his hand to silence the man, while he tried to listen more closely.

"Connor I try to-"

"Dad! Be quiet!" He whispered and turned around. "Did you hear that?" The whimper was very silent and weak, but it was there! He was sure that he had not imagined the sound.

"What?" His father finally whispered, his brows tightly knotted together by now.

"That!" Connor stated when he heard the whimper again, but apparently, his father did not hear the sound. With a low and a bit frustrated groan, Connor whirled around and followed the sound, aware that his father was following closely.

"Connor! Boy, stop it!" He called after him, but Connor had already vanished between the bushes and trees. He felt again as he had when he was still living with his mother, as he had when he was still but a child which did not understand the hatred of the other members of his tribe for him. He felt again as if he was able to run around the forest on his own for days on end. He remembered falling asleep underneath a big willow by the side of a creek until his mother found him and carried him home on her back, telling him stories about their ancestors and the way their tribe used to live hundreds and hundreds of years ago.

He ran past large trees and sharp rocks, jumped over twigs on the ground and did his best not to stumble or lose his balance on the snow, while the whimpering sound was growing louder and louder.

"Connor! Come back! You don’t even know where you're going!" He heard his father yelling, but of course, he did not stop. No, he pressed on and then finally, he could see where the whimpering came from. There was a trail of blood in the snow and Connor first hesitated to walk on but did so anyway, until he found a dead wolf lying in the snow and felt his stomach turn. He did not know that there were wolves in this very forest, but the poor thing apparently stepped into a bear trap and bled out. A beautiful creature, lying in the snow all by itself.

"Connor! What the hell- What is that?" His father finally managed to catch up to him but stopped immediately when he saw the dead wolf too. Apparently, their love for animals was yet another thing the Kenway men had in common. "Oh dear, poor girl." His father added silently and was still trying to catch his breath. Of course, he was not exactly in his twenties anymore and his son much faster than he was.

However, the whimpering sound was still there and Connor crouched down carefully behind the bushes from where the sound came until he found the culprit. It was a pup. Apparently, the little wolf had stayed at his mother's side. He was all alone, no siblings, no other wolves around. Only him and his dead mother.


	12. Chapter 12

_There was no doubt that Haytham Kenway would never be able to understand a single thing that was going on in Ziio's beautiful head. Underneath her mane of black hair lay a wonderful world full of mysteries and fascination, he could never even hope to comprehend. He would have loved to state that this was true the other way around too; however he himself was painfully aware of the fact that Ziio had looked past his forehead long ago and could pretty much grasp what was on his mind just by looking at his face (sometimes even just by looking at the back of his head). To her, he was an open book and he could not remember a single time in his life he would have felt that way before._

_From the get go he had loved this about her. To her, he was just Haytham and no rich British man with a fortune to inherit for possible children or to spoil his woman of choice rotten with. He was no sugar daddy or the price she would have set her eyes on. He was only Haytham, only a man and she was only Ziio, only a woman. From the start, she had made him feel as if nothing in the world would matter except for them and their relationship. He had loved, that she was able to understand him without needing any words or empty phrases. During their entire relationship (true, it had not been long, but it felt like a lifetime already - in a god way, of course), never one of them said_ I love you _, those frightening big three words every man seemed to fear. They did not need to say it, they knew it. It had been clear quite early on in their relationship and yet Haytham had never really dared to ask her if she would move in with him or if she would marry him one day. No, that was not the truth. It was not that he would not have_ dared _, he simply had not done it yet, for it did not seem that important. For all he knew, they had a whole life ahead of them and thus more than enough time to get to this._

_The first days of October had hit Boston with a new front of warmth and bright days filled with sunlight but made it very clear that the first storms of autumn would soon hit the town and that they should enjoy those probably last sunny days of the year as long as they still were able to. He and Ziio knew each other for a few months now and while other couples would have deemed this period of time long enough to go the whole hog, he and Ziio were not in a rush with such things. Or at least Haytham felt as if Ziio was a woman that did not like to rush those things._

_For him it was pretty clear that Ziio was the one woman in his life, the only person he could even imagine marrying one day, but every time he thought about marrying her, taming this beautiful wild creature into marriage, he thought that it was maybe his heart clouding his mind. He was so full of love for her that sometimes he found himself jolting awake at night in terror simply because suddenly he remembered the times they argued and the short moments he felt like he utterly hated this woman._

_That was another truth about their relationship he still needed to accept: When they were getting along, everything was fine and dandy and being with her felt like heaven, but when they argued it was hell and pure chaos. Maybe it would take him a long time to see that neither she nor their relationship was perfect and that this maybe was not even a relationship to start with. Maybe that was why he could not bring himself to buy a ring because there was this constant, nagging fear in his mind that only grew worse and worse and worse since she asked him a few weeks ago if he was interested in ever having kids. It was a normal and quite understandable question. Of course, she, just as well as him, wanted to plan her life and decide on whether she was wasting her time on him, instead of using it to find a man who indeed wanted a family. It was only normal! Yet, since she asked him that very question, he felt nervous and anxious and on the other hand, he felt as if Ziio was the only woman he truly would want kids with. He had already fantasized about it. He already thought about a whole bunch of children running around their house. Still, this question had suddenly felt like an ultimatum kind of thing, like a death sentence. He felt as if he was not yet ready even thinking about having a family of his own. He was still young and he had still so many things to do and accomplish. That was what his good friend Charles had said too when Haytham had first portrayed the situation to him in a quiet moment inside the office. His life was filled with work for the most part. How should he really care for a family, for children? How should he provide for them not just with money but with time and affection? He did not desire to be an absent father just as Jenny always described their father. He wanted to be there and see his children grow up, witness their first words, their first steps, the first time they would sleep through the night or spit spinach right in his face. He wanted the whole package, not just a glimpse of all that._

_But not now. Not yet. He was not ready. He had too much to do before that._

_"I don’t understand." Haytham muttered, though admitting his defeat like this, while his fingers clung so hard to the fine china that he could easily break it. His earl grey was almost cold by now after he had zoned out for what must have been almost ten minutes, simply staring into nothingness, until his eyes were finally able to focus again on the woman sitting in front of him._

_Ziio sighed and brushed a lock of her dark hair behind her ear - this very lock that always fell into her face to annoy her - before she took something from her bag and gently put it on the table between them. It was a silver key. It was his key. It was the key to his home, which he gave her a while ago so that she could come and go as she pleased. Sometimes he had come home in the middle of the night to find her asleep in his bed like a stray cat, or he had woken up the next morning and she had been there in his kitchen preparing breakfast. It had been so normal so quickly between them, but the key now lying between them on the table was signalizing what he had already felt during the course of the last days - since she had asked him that gruesome question in fact._

_She did not say anything for a while, only glanced at the table and the key, then she got up from her chair, her blue dress pooling shapelessly around her frame. She had gained a little bit of weight, Haytham noticed, but he did not really care. To him, this did not matter. It was not even much. He only just noticed and would forget right away again. "I think we both know that it is better this way." Ziio finally spoke, but she had taken her time to make her voice sound firm and suppress the slight tremor in it. Haytham was still able to hear it, though. She avoided looking into his eyes and Haytham was overworking his brain frantically, searching for an answer. Why so quickly? He wanted to ask her, what he did wrong that she would leave him so quickly. That was what his heart wanted to do, but his head told him that their relationship had been doomed right from the get go!_

_"Why?" He asked anyway, anger boiling somewhere deep down inside his guts, but he did his best not to show it. They were in a public place after all. They had visited his favorite tea shop in the city and he remembered Ziio laughing about Haytham visiting a tea shop like the British man he was in the beginning. He should have known she would only want to meet him in a neutral place to avoid a scene - though Haytham was normally no man to make a scene anyway. "Have I done anything wrong? Have I done something to insult or anger you?"_

_"Haytham, please don’t make this weird or any harder than it already is. I think we both knew that this was not going to last and I think we should end this now before it gets too serious to get out of it easily." Ziio spoke up again but still avoided looking at him._

_"No! I want to hear why, Ziio. You owe me an explanation!" He sneered, doing his best in keeping his voice down._

_Finally, she looked at him as if that wording had struck a nerve with her. Oh, she had always hated the word_ owe _. He knew she hated this phrase like nothing else in the entire world. Still the glare she gifted him with was not as fierce and dangerous as it used to be. "I owe you nothing Haytham and you do not owe me anything too. I wish you well, Haytham. Someday you will surely understand that this was for the best."_

\----

"So you got a dog now." Edward James Kenway stated when he finally entered the house of his son this very evening on the outskirts of Boston Massachusetts, while his son was slowly carrying his old father's suitcases inside. Apparently, his father had decided to move his entire household to his son's place, but Haytham feared more that most of the things he was carrying inside were Christmas presents for his own young son.

"It’s a wolf." Haytham corrected him silently when he finally put down the last suitcase heavily on the floorboards of the foyer of his house. His son had not even tried to help him. He just stood near the staircase, the puppy wolf on his arms. Haytham would have loved to say that he indeed protested against Connor taking the wolf back home, for after all, it was a dangerous animal – but he did not. He had not even tried to protest and that was indeed the truth. The moment his son had picked the baby wolf off the ground Haytham knew he could not possibly say anything against the poor puppy. Maybe it was his bad conscience for not having protected Connor well enough before.

Connor grinned sheepishly as his grandfather bridged the distance between them to ruffle through his unruly dark hair. "I've heard you went on a little adventure?" The old pirate grinned but instead of scolding the boy as any proper grandfather should, he only flung his left arm around Connor's shoulders and led him to the living room, leaving his own son behind with his heavy baggage to bring upstairs. "Tell me everything about it and then we will make a plan how we get back at this asshole Pitcairn."

While Haytham was carrying up his father's suitcases to put them into the second guest bedroom (casually noticing that he was running out of guest rooms slowly), he thought about the wisdom of his decision when he told Edward everything about this _little adventure_ of his son. Of course, he could have just kept his silence on the whole thing, but on the other hand, Edward would have learned about the situation anyway in some way or another and – that was something Haytham should always keep in mind – the outcome of this situation could have been worse. He deserved to know about this and it was his right to know, after all, he was Connor's grandfather and he had the right to fuss over the boy if he wanted to.

And yet, no matter that Edward tried to play it cool among Connor, Haytham knew perfectly well how furious he had been when he learned about this ordeal, starting with the news of Connor's disappearance a few days ago and then further learning about the reason, which Haytham could not forget, no matter how hard he tried to. Of course, it had not been his plan on informing his father about this right away, but wanted to stay put and wait until everything was settled and fine again, however, Shay did. Edward had apparently tried to call him in the office and Shay then informed him about everything that had happened. It was quite a miracle that Edward had not come running right away as he heard the tale of his grandson running away from home because his teacher had bullied him.

For just one moment Haytham stayed in the guest bedroom and listened to the sounds of the house. Odd. Before Connor arrived at his doorstep his house had always only be filled with silence. He listened to Edward's booming laughter and Connor's much quieter voice and suddenly he felt as if he had missed the noise in his house for the last fifteen years without even knowing it. Shortly, Haytham sat down on the edge of the guest bed, in which his father would sleep in for the next days and then probably start complaining about the too soft mattress, after all, he was a rotten pirate and used to the hard ground after he fell out of his bunk - intentionally leaving out the fact that he had never slept in a bunk bed on his ship.

Up until the point this nosy brat Connor had appeared at his doorstep, he had not known that he wanted exactly that: The noise of life in his usually oh so silent and empty house. Suddenly, when he thought back to the time _before,_ his house felt like an empty shell, just a lonely abandoned shed in the middle of nowhere, with no one who would care if Haytham would drop dead one morning. Only when this noise had been taken away from his house, he had understood that he wanted this, as cliché as it might sound. Of course, cliché it was, but he did not feel as bad about that fact as he first thought he would. It did not matter if it was cliché. It was the truth and the only thing he started to regret was, that he had not kept on fighting for Ziio, pressing her to tell him the truth about their break-up. He should have been there when Connor was born. He should have been there right from the start.

He wondered if Ziio had known all that from the start. Had she probably known, that Haytham would meet their son eventually? Had she probably known that all would come to a good end? Well, was it a _good ending_? He had not yet made his decision of really keeping the boy in his house, though it was probably obvious that Connor would stay after Haytham made him change schools.

Well, who knew what this woman might have thought? While he had been an open book to her, she had been quite the mystery to him, no matter how much he would like to tell otherwise. Up until this point, he had no clue what had brought her to the decision of leaving him. Now, of course, he knew that she had been pregnant with his child back then, but Ziio surely was no woman who would flee a fight without even trying to fight it. It did not matter what Haytham would have said about their child, she would not have just buried her head in the sand like this, without trying to convince him that it could have worked out between them.

By now he was almost certain that something else entirely had been the reason. However, what this could be he did not know.

Of course, he could not try to escape this topic forever, especially not around his son, but while Connor did not seem to want to talk about it, his own father Edward indeed seemed interested in this very mystery all the more. "So you and Ziio" He started later that very same evening, after Connor and his baby wolf fell asleep on the couch, just after opening what felt like a million Christmas presents wrapped in the most absurd wrapping paper there was on the planet. "How did this thing between you two really ended?"

"I told you everything I know how that story ended, father. I don’t want to discuss this topic any further now. Anyway, don’t you think you have spoiled the little one a bit too much?" Haytham replied when he sat down in his armchair with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart. It was the truth, that he had not even really thought about Christmas presents for his fifteen-year-old son. Being a father was still so very new to him, that he had not wasted a thought on it - unlike his own father, who stood near the fireplace with his round glass of fruity red wine in his left hand. In the dim light inside the room, his son and his father looked very much alike. The fire was making his father look older than he was - though some might say just as old as he indeed was. In this light the scars on his face and his hands were just all the more prominent and while the scars on his face told the stories of a scoundrel getting into a few pub brawls, the scars on his hands told of hard and rough work while the harsh wind of the northern seas was gripping and ripping on his skin. Just another thing his father and his son had in common. He would love to state that he too knew hard work - and he did! - but he never experienced work like they, Connor and his father experienced work. Odd. An odd thing to think about.

"Quite the contrary. This is not even nearly enough. I owe this boy fifteen years worth of Christmas and birthday presents and a lot of them are from your sister as well. Does Shay know that you called this pup after his ex-boyfriend?"

"We didn’t name him after his _ex-boyfriend_. Connor decided on naming him Liam because he thought he _looked_ like a Liam, end of the story. Other than this I don’t even know if Liam was his _boyfriend_."

"Oh no, they were just really close friends." His father scoffed before he pulled the woolen blanket that normally lied over the backrest of the couch, over his sleeping grandson. Little Liam looked at him puzzled, but did not make any attempt of doing anything but wiggle closer towards Connor. "Just as close as you and this woman, otherwise this boy wouldn’t be here. I assume you finally came to terms with the fact that you are indeed this boy's father, am I right?"

"Well, no, you are not right, father, for this is no _fact_ I needed to come to terms with in the first place, for up until this point we only have this boy's and his grandmother's word for it. This is hardly considered a fact in court normally." His father made a face as if they had just gotten back to the point where they had first started a few months ago and Haytham felt the sudden sting of shame rushing through his system because of it. His father was disappointed and no matter how much he would like to tell otherwise, he was still partly the little boy who desperately craved his father's attention and praise.

"Then why would his grandmother give you this boy? I would never give my grandchild to a stranger, even if said stranger believed to be their father. They haven't done it for the money, have they? At least, for now, there is no claim for that, is there? And if Ziio wanted your money in the first place, she would have filed for alimony right away. Let's face the facts here, Haytham, for we both know that you are not the type of person to run away from facts: This boy is your son, he is my grandson. There is no doubt about it; otherwise, you wouldn’t have neglected work in such an important time for the company, just to look for a runaway teenager."

Of course, he would not have neglected his business. The business was in dire need of his attention and yet he ran after Connor to New York and yet he sat here now, yet he had taken a few days off to spend with his child. If Connor would be just one random teenage boy claiming to be his child and then running off to New York, he would not even have batted an eyelash. He simply did not care that much for other people or their kids. His father was quite like that too and his sister - well, that was a whole other story, he guessed. Connor however … Connor was different in that particularly Kenway-trait. He stepped in for Desmond after Desmond had stepped in for him in front of those bullies in school and he seemed to care a whole lot about other people and their problems. Once he had caught the boy whispering with Shay in the gardens when Connor took care of his freshly planted herbs and he would not hold it past his son to already know more about Shay as Haytham did.

He even stepped in for a random girl on the tube, as Connor told him after the incident in New York when they had cleaned up his battle wounds. He had stepped in for this girl and had been beaten up for this without even getting a little thank you in return from her. Well, that was how the real world functioned, Haytham guessed and it was about time, that the boy finally learned that very important lesson - though Haytham really would have liked to have him learn that lesson in another way.

"He is quite a naïve boy." Haytham finally stated after a few minutes of pure silence, only interrupted by the constant crackle from the fireplace. "That’s clearly not a very Kenway-esk character trait."

"No, it is not indeed." Edward chuckled, but Haytham did not miss the look his father shot his grandson. For him, there had been no doubt at all, that Connor was part of their family right from the very beginning, though Haytham had no clue why that was. Maybe his father, as childish as he sometimes was, possessed a greater wisdom that only came with age.

"How could you have been so sure, that he is indeed my son?" He asked and yet that was not a normal conversation they would have - however, what was normal at all since the boy arrived at his doorstep?

"Because I never experienced you so flustered and enraged over something as trivial as that. Clearly, this boy is not the first to come to you and claim to be your child. I know exactly how something like that feels, Haytham, and I know you do too, so why was it so very different when Connor came to you this time?" That clearly was a question Haytham had asked himself too and yet he had not been able to find a satisfying answer to that. Maybe there was none.

For a short moment, he just stared at his son, watched how his almost black hair fell into his soft and not yet fully developed face. His freckles became all the more apparent in the light of the ingle and the deep shadows, which the dim light cast on his baby face, already predicted the features he would soon develop. Haytham was sure that Connor would change much until he would be an adult and he could already see the small changes he had made since October. Surely he would grow a whole lot more. Right now, he was rather short for a fifteen-year-old boy, still a pup needing to grow into his paws, just like Liam, but surely he would not stay this little. He would start to grow faster now - just as the little wolf in his arms, who seemed quite contempt wrapped in the warmth of his new best friend.

"I don’t know." Haytham finally admitted as he gently brushed his thumb over one of the small fluffy ears of the pup. It was not normal for a wolf to be alone from his pack, especially not for such a little one. Surely he must have siblings, but it appears as if he - Liam - had stayed behind with his injured mother, while the rest of his pack and his siblings had moved on. Of course, he would feel comfortable in Connor's presence. "He looked so much like Ziio." He shrugged his shoulders. "He has much of her. Maybe that was why. He seemed so determined in his actions, but to be honest, I had little respect for that. I didn’t want to listen to that kid or ballast me with his tragic life story. Hearing about Ziio's death had made me anxious enough and I didn’t want to hear a sob story of a boy I had no interest in getting to know. Frankly, I still haven't asked him about his mother or why he had run away from home. He told me - Well, no, he told Shay a bit about it and Shay then told me. Apparently, he never got along with the other members of his tribe and I can only imagine how hard it must have been to be seen as an outcast, as he apparently was."

"Is that why you decided to give it a try?" His father pressed on with a low hum to his voice as the finally sat down on the other couch.

"No. No, it's not. I don’t care much about stories such as this one. But after the incident with Charles, well … I just felt the urge to at least try it out - for Ziio. I wanted to believe that she had raised him to be an honest kid. I didn’t know if she has lied to him about his father, but if she has, then I was sure Connor didn’t know. Maybe I felt just a little bit pity. Maybe I did it to honor her. I don’t really know. Now, after I had time to think about it and to get to know this boy a little better, I think that our break-up makes a little bit more sense. However, I never thought Ziio would have withheld me, my son, no matter how our relationship would have ended and after all it was her, who ended our relationship without giving me a reasonable explanation."

"Maybe you glorify her more than she deserves?" Edward carefully probed and the way he looked at him, was just as his sister tended to when they were kids. It was a look of pure curiosity and almost scientific interest on how he would react to such a question.

"Maybe." Haytham shrugged, just when he heard a car driving by and then stopping. He did not think much of it. "But don’t we all tend to glorify people close to our hearts that are no longer with us? After all, I heard you speaking to Jenny about her mother. You glorify Caroline too, though mother told me that you two often fought and that she never quite understood your dreams and did not support you to follow it at all too. Caroline too never told you about Jenny until you came back."

His father was just about to say something - probably to disagree with him - when there was a knock on the door. Well, his doorbell was perfectly intact, but Haytham mused that it was simply not polite to ring the doorbell so late in the day on such a special occasion. Haytham sighed. "Probably some carolers." He murmured halfway in getting up, while his father only shortly nodded and took a sip of his wine. Maybe it was time to retreat to bed anyways, Haytham thought as he walked towards the front door. He heard his father yawning from the living room, as he reached the door and he was already contemplating how best to move Connor upstairs without waking him when he opened his front door and was once again faced with two police officers.

It was surely not the first time he was confronted with the police and Haytham had never been a person to fear the long arm of the law too - why should he anyway? The police of Boston at least somewhat helped him in finding his son lately, but those two standing in front of him he did not know and the way they were looking at him made it very apparent to Haytham that they were not here to _help_ him with anything.

"Good evening, officers." Haytham cleared his throat and shortly looked past them towards the car. At least they had not turned the blue lights on to draw suspicion towards his house. "What might be the problem? Are you here because of my son's little adventure a few days ago? If that is the case I can assure you, that he is fine now and that we have already talked about it."

"It's not about that, Sir." One of the two officers stated with a grim expression. He was a young man, maybe in his twenties still, his face haggard and not at all sympathetic. The other one was at least ten years older, a bit plumper, a family man for sure, just judging by his appearance, his ginger hair, and the full mustache.

"Oh, is it maybe about Pitcairn?" He could hear the shuffling steps of his father approaching the scene and though he would rather not have him interfering (mainly because his father tended to treat him like a five-year-old boy still) he could hardly prevent it from happening.

"No, Sir." The ginger haired man stated with a low, but friendly voice before he shortly tapped his head in Edward's direction after he appeared behind his son. His colleague seemed not all too thrilled with his older colleague's behavior towards those men. "We are very sorry to interrupt you like this so late during the holidays, surely you have other things planned but the circumstances did not leave us any other choice. We are here for your son, that much is true."

"Has he done something wrong?" Edward chimed in immediately and when Haytham flashed him a short glance, his father was already in full on protector mode.

"No, not at all." The ginger haired officer stated, but his younger colleague interfered.

"We are here on behalf of his uncle, a man going by the name of" He got his little notepad from the pocket of his jacket and then scrunched up his face in a grimace that made it very clear to Haytham that he had no clue how to pronounce that name. "Teiowí:sonte." Haytham of course knew the person he referred to, however he was pretty sure, that his name sounded a whole lot different when Ziio first talked to him about her older brother.

"Well, what is the matter then?" Haytham inquired with furrowed brows. He never got along with this man. Tei hated him from the get go. He was quite old-fashioned and his idea of how the world was archaic to say the least. To Teiowí:sonte he had always been the enemy, always been the British man that stole his sister just as so many other British men had stolen native women and children and their land centuries ago.

"You see…" The older cop continued clearly uncomfortable with the situation at hand. "Your son's uncle came to us today, demanding that we will bring back his nephew, after he heard of your son running away to New York and about the incident with his teacher. You see, after his mother's death, your son's uncle is his legal guardian-"

"I am his _father_!" Haytham hissed, after the message finally sank in.

"Yes, that is indeed true and his uncle reassured us of this fact, after the documents regarding your son are in his possession right now, but you see … We have special laws concerning out native American tribes and their children. Other than this you never filed for custody for the boy since he started living with you in October of this year. His uncle stated that Connor's stay at this house was meant as a trial, after the boy had troubles getting along with the other members of his tribe - a timeout, as he said. However, after he heard about the latest incidents he was of course growing all the more worried for his nephew's wellbeing and now he made use of his guardianship and wants him back home with the tribe."

"But he ran away because he got treated poorly there!" Haytham really tried his best not to raise his voice and a part of him still found it fascinating that he felt so wrought up in this situation.

"Mr. Kenway, please do not make this any harder for you or your son. We are bound to bring him back to his tribe right now and we will not go before we achieved exactly that." The younger officer stated. "You can of course file for custody first thing in the morning in the court of law, but until then, your son will stay with his legal guardian."

Haytham felt his fists clenching without his doing and his jaw set. He wanted to protest, to argue with the cops, to demand that they would leave them in peace or that this uncle of Connor's should come himself to get him! But he did not.

"Haytham" His father murmured behind him, after Haytham just kept standing in the doorway and made no move for what felt like an eternity. Only as his father put his hand on Haytham's right shoulder, he moved and let the cops inside. "Go get him. We will have him back soon."


	13. Chapter 13

  _There was something about the nightly silence of the Kanatahséton Village that had always been quite eerie to Connor, even when he was younger and knew nothing but this village. Since the village was so far off from any other settlement and since a rather large forest divided the valley from the highway, there was always a thick cloud of silence and calmness hanging about the settlement. For the majority of Connor's life, he had liked this feeling of serenity and tranquility since it was something kids his age usually would not experience during their time of adolescence. Most teens he knew had no clue what to do with themselves as soon as silence entered their lives. Most teens were struck with boredom the moment their internet was not working, the kids growing up with Connor in the village, however, were different and Connor had always liked that about his upbringing._

_However, this night was different. This night the silence was deafening, the noises of the owls in the trees like thunder in his ears and the whistling and rustling of the leaves like a storm. The light in his mother's room was dimmed and warm and cozy, however, Connor just felt cold and chill, sitting at his mother's bedside near the wooden door. The door was still a bit creaky, so no one could enter or leave the room without alerting his mother, though she wanted to fix this for a while now._

_Somehow he could not help but think about the one time his mother and he went to see the circus in the small settlement nearby where he was visiting school. He had no clue though why he thought about that night right now when there were more pressing matters and worries. Maybe because his mother had started to show the first signs of her illness back that day and yet she had gone to go see the circus with him after Connor had nagged her about this so much, no matter that she had been sick. Maybe she would never have gotten that bad if he had not, he thought briefly._

_This was of course nonsense and that he indeed knew, but the child inside his mind thought very differently about all that. That was normal too, he guessed._

_His mother looked incredibly gray and pale as she lied in her bed now. Her cheeks were hollow and lost all their natural fullness. She_ looked _sick and the entire room smelled of sickness and medicine, though his mother always did her best to hide all that behind a curtain of the smell of daisies and other wildflowers growing near their village. She made sure to light joss sticks every day - to keep their ancestors' spirits at bay, as she always told him, however, Connor knew that it was mainly so the room would not smell like death and of the illness that was slowly eating away at her._

 _Her hands were scarily thin and boney, as she grabbed for Connor's right hand which he only gave to her hesitantly. Her hands were cold, though there was a small fire crackling in the fireplace. A thick woolen blanket laid atop of her duvet and Connor himself put on two pairs of socks on her feet two hours ago when she had been fast asleep, for she did not like him taking care of her. His mother was a brave one, a fighter too and thus she did not like being seen by her boy so weak and sick and_ frail _. He knew that and that was why he waited that she fell asleep. That way she could pretend she would not know about the socks on her feet and he could pretend that he never put them on for her. This way she could keep her face, though Connor never quite understood what that meant. There was no harm in taking help from others from time to time, was there?_

_"Connor, love, would you please hand me the binder I have on my desk? The black one." Something about her request seemed odd to Connor. Something about it, he did not like very much._

_"You don’t need this binder now, Ista." Connor finally concluded, but he refused to look directly at her face, while he started playing with her hand._

_"Yes, I do need this binder now, dear." He did not like those pet names. Not now. His mother never really used pet names for him, so why now? Having her doing this only felt more as if she was indeed dying and that there was nothing he could do about that. What an awful thing to feel or think. After just a small huff of air leaving his mouth in frustration, Connor finally got up from his chair and shuffled towards her desk right underneath the window. She rarely used it for every time she needed to do something which would require a desk she would rather lounge on her bed or the sofa. Well, at least that was how it had been when she still had the energy to take care of such boring and serious stuff. Her brother - Connor's uncle - was taking care of all that serious and boring stuff now. The black binder and her laptop were everything that was still left of her stuff inside the desk. He found the binder without a problem - of course - still, he paused for a second just staring at the bloody thing. He knew that binder well and he knew that everything that was somehow important to his mother was in it. His birth certificate being one of the few things of importance to her in this very binder, for his mother once told him about it. Connor knew that and yet he had never dared to look inside, no matter that this way he could have learned about his father's name long ago. It simply did not feel right to him snooping around her stuff without her permission._

_"Connor" His mother reminded him on the circumstances they were in and Connor finally got up with the binder once again and wiggled back to her bed. He took his seat on his chair again, before he handed her the cursed binder._

_"What do you want with this thing anyway?" Connor pouted and while a part of him suddenly was erupting in excitement for the sheer possibility his mother could finally reveal his father's identity to him, the bigger part of him felt devastated thinking that, for it would also mean that his mother would prepare herself for the inevitable and Connor would rather keep acting as though she would live forever. She could not die. She was too young to die._

_"I wanted to show you something." She snickered, though her voice was weak and thin and her snickering not how he knew and loved it. She used to be so mischievous and liked to pull pranks on other members of their tribes - or him. To Connor, it was quite obvious that she even had troubles holding the binder in her weak hands now, but she refused to let it show on her face, while she slowly searched for something inside the binder. For a moment, he was sure that she wanted to show him his birth certificate, but then she produced a photography out of it. Shortly she just looked at the photo without showing it to him and he was not able to read her face at all within that instance. There was the faint shimmer of fondness in her dark brown eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, but then she turned her face to him again and gave the photo to him. "That’s your father." She quietly explained and though a part of him found joy in the image of his parents united on that photo - just a young, carefree couple in love - the bigger part of him felt as if stepping on his mother's grave._

\-------

His uncle's house was unfriendly, dark and uncomfortable to Connor. He did not like the feeling inside the building and though it was bigger than the one he used to live in with his mother, he felt pent up within the small confinements of the guest bedroom. Just another guest room. Not _his_ room. Not a home. He had always felt this way, even when he had been a child and just visiting his cousin Kanen'tó:kon for a sleepover or to spend a few hours loafing around uselessly. As children, they had mostly been playing outside, though Connor had always been a bit more active than his rather plump best friend and cousin. It had not always been easy, though. Kanen'tó:kon liked to play with the other kids and Connor too would have loved to, but they did not. However, that had never been a problem between them and now things seemed to be so much different than before and yet they had stayed the same. This house and this settlement were the living examples of cessation.

He felt like staying at an abandoned graveyard, the ghosts of the deceased staring at him, witnessing his every move.

The police had taken him from his father's house yesterday evening after he had fallen asleep on his large, comfortable sofa surrounded by his father, grandfather and his new best friend Liam after they had eaten Pizza and opened the presents his grandfather had brought from London. He had loved this. He had loved seeing his grandpa again and listening to his adventured stories, though his father liked to remind him that he was maybe a bit exaggerating due to the eggnog he already consumed before starting his story time. Connor was not much for material things, but he had found joy in the little gifts his grandfather brought him nonetheless, simply for the thoughts that had gone into them. It was mainly books though and Connor, though he only had had little time to pack his necessary things, had tried to stuff as many of those books as possible into his backpack. He had left his plush-wolf behind yet again though and he felt guilty for doing so.

It was not as though he had not tried to fight back and to just do as he was told when his father had gently shaken him awake. Of course, he had resisted. Of course, he had tried to convince the cops that he should better stay with his father, but nothing had helped. He had only delayed the inevitable. He knew the law well. That was simply something one learned when growing up in a native environment such as this. His uncle had every right to ask for his nephew being sent home as long as the question about his custody was not yet settled. He knew that and he knew that his father and grandfather both knew that too and yet he felt oh so very angry now that he sat on the guest bed in his uncle's house without being taken seriously by really anyone. No one had even asked him about this whole affair. No one ever tries to ask the children involved what they would like!

He had not slept at all since he had arrived in the settlement again, where everything had been like it was when he had left. It had been shortly after midnight when the police car stopped right in front of the village's gates on the small path leading through the forest and most of the houses had been dark and quiet with exception of his uncle's house. He had greeted him at the door with the face of a man worried sick for his young nephew, while his aunt and his older cousin Kanen'tó:kon had already been fast asleep apparently. Connor, however, had not even looked at the man, while burying Liam in his coat so he would not feel cold.

Through the window of his little chamber right opposite of his small bed, he could see his mother's house, empty and dark, sitting right on the shore of the lake, staring into the night with black, dead eyes. The window of the room through which he escaped around three months ago was closed now, but Connor still remembered the moment when he climbed through that very window on the long side of the house, climbing down a small tree and running into the night with his uncle shouting right after him as if he was but a mere thief, running off with everything that was of worth. Though he had only taken himself and the photo of his parents.

It was four in the morning by now and Connor could not stop thinking about his leave at his father's place. The old wolf had done nothing to prevent it, while his grandpa had been ranting and throwing insults the entire time. He still had not clue if his father was at all sad about his leaving, for he had not said a word after he had woken up his son. Would he even start fighting for custody? Was he perhaps glad that Connor was home with his native family again?

"What do you think, Liam?" Connor silently murmured, but the pup just whimpered and wiggled closer to him. He was soft and fluffy and tiny and his uncle absolutely detested the beast that was now living in his house. He was not a good partner for conversation, though. Gently he grabbed the pup and pulled him into his arms before he leaned more into his pillows to relax a bit, though he did not even think of sleeping. "Do you think he will try to get me back or do you think we should leave on our own?"

Well, the last time he tried to run away had not worked out so very well. Anyway, to where should he run? He would never try running away to New York again, that much was certain! He could not run back to his father either. He was all alone, as soon as he would leave again. He had no place to turn to when he would run away yet again, but he was not as dumb as to think that he would maybe manage just fine all by himself, for he would not. He was not as naïve as Desmond. He could hunt and fish and knew how to survive in the wilderness, but that was indeed hardly enough, he guessed.

Suddenly he was alerted by the sound of the creaking floorboards on the hallway and he knew right away who had gotten up that early, in contradiction to their usual behaviorism. His cousin normally had quite the sleep and would not wake before noon on a school free day. He must have been already awake and waiting to find an opportunity to sneak out - whatever Kanen'tó:kon planned on doing. Very quickly it turned out that his cousin was on his way to his room - or at least that was where Kanen'tó:kon ended up, after carefully opening the door. He had not that sharp eyes to see right away if Connor was indeed awake and for just a moment Connor thought about feigning sleep, but then he sighed. "Come in, I'm up."

"You're already up?" His cousin asked in a muffled voice as if he really was afraid he could alert someone inside the house. Well, it was not prohibited for them to be up already, wasn’t it?

"I haven't even slept." Connor huffed as he turned on the lamp on the small bedside table to his right. Liam whimpered and shoved his nose underneath the blanket. Apparently, he had no interest in being exposed to the light so early. It appears the baby wolf was quite the drama queen.

Kanen'tó:kon paused at the foot of Connor's bed and looked at the ground, worrying his bottom lip as he always did when he did not know what to say exactly. It was only then that Connor understood how long he had not spoken to his cousin or his granny. He had called the old woman a few times since he started living with his father, but Kanen'tó:kon … He only wrote him one or two emails and that was hardly enough when it came to his best friend and cousin within three months, wasn’t it? Partly he felt guilty for this faux pas, but then again he had more pressing matters to worry about, he guessed. Kanen'tó:kon still wore his plaited pajamas which always looked a bit too small on him. He had put on a bit more weight again.

"Yes… Well, I heard mom and dad arguing about everything." Kanen'tó:kon then murmured, before he walked on and carefully sat down on the mattress. "Sorry for the mess. I told dad he should leave you in peace and that you would call granny yourself if you wouldn’t want to stay with your father any longer, but he wouldn’t listen. Said, that you couldn’t decide something like that for yourself and that you wouldn’t know better. He said you would be better off with us and not with your father."

"He hates my dad." Connor sighed. He did not need to be a genius to figure that out. He knew that his uncle was old fashioned and that he hated all white men and he had learned it the hard way, what his uncle thought about him. So why would this man ballast himself with Connor? "I don’t understand why he cares so much. I don’t understand why he wouldn’t just leave me with my dad to figure everything out myself, after all, he has always hated me." He scoffed.

Kanen'tó:kon lowered his gaze to his feet as if to look if they were still attached to his body. He seemed nervous, but Kanen'tó:kon had always seemed quite nervous to him. "He is not so bad. He really cares for you Ratonhnhaké:ton." He was almost not used to be called by his real name any longer.  After all, for the last three months he had been Connor Kenway and not Ratonhnhaké:ton. Weird. He had not felt like Connor Kenway at all during his time with his father. And now that he was back, he did not feel like Ratonhnhaké:ton too. He hated this.

"I bet he does." He silently murmured.

\------

Overworking his brain would not help him, he knew that and yet he sat in his office at his large black Oakwood desk with the elegant glass plate and was gripping at his hair like he had already lost his very fragile mind. He could not even concentrate on the reports lying in front of him, though he knew that he needed to read them urgently. It would not be the first time that the company would face lawsuits of any sorts, but still, this was no laughing matter and the dire financial situation they faced momentarily was not as easy to disregard too. It was not that the company in itself would experience losses on the market, but a few of their investors had stopped supporting their company and they had troubles with their ships and fishermen all over the world.

"Sir, your sister called." Shay. He almost forgot about Shay, but now he stood in Haytham's office and he had not even heard him entering or closing the glass door behind him. Outside the large windows behind Haytham's back the sun was beginning to descend into a red boiling pool of madness, just as he was, only so she could make room for her more reasonable and cold brother. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at him, very well aware of the fact that he must look like a mess, his hair tousled and hanging partly loose around his face, bags underneath his usually sharp, but today rather dull blue eyes. He was tired and he knew that he looked tired too. He had not slept in days. He had not slept since Connor had been taken back to his tribe.

"Jenny?" He asked and then cleared his throat as he noticed how weak his voice suddenly sounded. "More bad news?"

"No, not exactly bad news, I would say, Sir." Shay replied swiftly as he moved closer towards Haytham's desk, a stack of documents in his arms. "She only called to let me inform you, that she arranged another meeting with the union to negotiate the contracts for the fishermen near Alaska tomorrow morning. She would like you to be there too, via webcam of course. That is, of course, if you could arrange that. Naturally, your sister is aware of the fact that you have other matters to worry about too. In addition, she asked me to send you her best wishes regarding the affair around your son. She hopes she will meet him very soon on British soil."

Haytham sighed and could not even be bothered to suppress the sound. There was no reason to try anyway; after all, he kept no secrets from Shay - mainly because he really had no secrets. Not anymore at least.

Slowly, he leaned back in his chair with a squeak and rubbed his temples quite fierce to get his brain working properly again. Now was not the time to let personal matters interfere with his business. "I will join her surely." He replied after a moment of silence and the next time he looked at Shay, his worried dark eyes rested upon his face. "Is there something else, Shay?"

Shortly Shay glanced at his shoes before he decided to look at his boss again. "Sir, if you allow me this remark: You do not look well. Perhaps you should go home. Mr. Lee can take care of the necessary business."

"I always thought you didn't like Charles." Haytham quietly scoffed as he finally gave up on massaging his temples and sluggishly rested his arms on the armrests of his comfortable leather chair. When he was a child he had always admired his father's office and his big black leather chair. The chair of the _head_ of a company. The chair of a leader. He had always dreamt of having one like this too one day. Now he had it. He did not feel lucky, though.

"Well, I do not agree with his way of thinking and he does not agree with mine. But I don't have any problems with him on a personal level, mainly because I do not know him well enough for that." Shay replied with a faint smirk on his face which quickly vanished into his usual quite serious face.

"But you do have something on your mind regarding him, am I right?"

Another long pause, but then Shay came closer and laid down the documents on Haytham's desk. "I just ... I do find it extraordinary that a fine gentleman such as Charles, calls a man who beats and humiliates children his acquaintance. Maybe that could lead to conclusions about _his_ character too. Furthermore, I find it strange that a man such as Pitcairn chooses _your_ son out of all the pupils from Black Hills Academy to humiliate and abuse. Surely, he had known about the boy's affiliation to the Kenway family and of course to the headmaster of the school too. A wise man would have stayed as far away as possible from your son in that regard."

"What are you proposing?" He did not like the direction to which this conversation had turned now, but he trusted Shay more than enough to not bad mouth someone out of personal reasoning. He might have a little temper, that was for sure and if one was to lose Shay's trust they would lose it forever without negotiation or the chance of reconciliation. He was very much like a dog - loyal to the core until he was struck with betrayal.

He seemed a bit uncomfortable, though. "Well, Sir, I cannot be certain about this, of course, but I do think that the way Pitcairn had treated your son has maybe resonated from what Charles might have told his good old friend. We both know that Charles tends to be a bit racist - especially concerning our Native Americans - and Pitcairn is no exception in this matter, which is also no secret. I don’t want to say that Charles might have driven Pitcairn to punish your son on purpose, but I think he clearly had an influence on him."

"Thank you, Shay, for your input. I will think about it." Haytham answered after a short while. He felt as if he was not able to focus on anything right now. He felt as if everything was blurred out at the edges. He did not want to ballast himself further with Shay's allegations concerning Charles, but he should not simply brush them off as if they would not matter. He would not put it past Charles, that he brought Pitcairn to mistreat his son the way he did and Haytham was still boiling with anger as he recalled the memory of the gruesome injuries inflicted on his son. However, if he would really think about this, he would start to question Charles's loyalty and then he would need to take actions against this man. He could not possibly keep a man as his second in command that caused another human being to mistreat his child - any child! - in such a brutal way, but this was a private matter and he could not simply fire Charles for personal matters, not without risking legal consequences at least. Charles and Shay had one thing in common: their unquestioned loyalty towards him and the company. If he would lose Charles's loyalty, this man could become a dangerous threat. And yet … He could not stop thinking about the gruesome wound on his boy's back. He had been ripped apart by Pitcairn, his soft skin torn and raw and bloody. He would forever be scarred, not only by those physical wounds but mainly by the mental trauma that Pitcairn had caused.

Shay lingered just one moment longer, but then he nodded and left the room again. Haytham was sure, that Shay did know more than he was eager to tell him, but maybe he understood that it would not be wise to press on any further.

Haytham did not often take the time to go out for a drink with his colleagues of friends - especially not since Connor came into his life. It was not as if he was antisocial, he just had a tight schedule. That was a well-known fact. A fact on which Thomas Hickey really liked to remind him every time they met.

"'Aythaaaaaaam!" He was already quite drunk when Haytham had entered the pub - one of the very few real British pubs he could find after his arrival in Boston. His father - the old pirate - had decided on staying _home_ , which was not at all like him. Normally, his father used every little opportunity to drink and have a good time in a pub, but he had busied himself with paperwork and busy phone calls lately. He was adamant to get his grandchild back. Maybe more adamant than he was, a bitter part of him thought after his third pint. "Maybe it's for the better y'know?" Hickey said next to him after he wrapped his left arm tightly around Haytham's shoulders sitting at the bar. He was slurring his words so heavily that it almost did not even matter anymore. Hickey was almost always drunk, for all Haytham knew. "I mean… Well, maybe he is better off with his folks, y'know? That’s what Charlie says, at least!"

"That’s what Charlie says, ey?" Haytham hummed and his mood and brain were already fogged by the alcohol and more so than he would like to admit. He was no lightweight, that much was certain, however, he was not a very heavy drinker either. Maybe it was the present circumstances that caused the alcohol to have that much of an effect on him. Clearly, he should feel angry for what _Charlie_ had apparently said about his son, but now his anger seemed very dull. "What else had Charlie to say about my son?"

Hickey laughed and bumped so hard against Haytham's shoulder that Haytham spilled a bit of his pint over the bar, much to the annoyance of the bartender, a plump and rather big man. "You know Charlie!" Hickey exclaimed and his mood was clearly at its highest - as it always was when Hickey got the chance to tattle about his _friends_ \- and the new pint he was ordering swiftly with a gesture of his left hand would only add to his good mood surely. "He's a racist lil' fuck, good old Charlie. Still thinks of 'merica as colonies and stuff, still, thinks about the natives as savages and slaves. But, oh boy, let me tell you, 'aytham: He aaaaabsolutely hated your lil' boy. It's quite the wonder he didn’t kill Ziio, when he learned about her pregnancy. Almost thought he was jealous 'r something. He's a weird lil' slimeball! Said he would break lil' Connor's neck personally if he ever got the chance!"

"Are you alright Sir?" The bartender suddenly chimed in and stopped polishing his glasses just for one moment. The pub was well visited, so he certainly did not have a lack of work to proclaim, yet it was quite calm inside the pub. It seems his wife, a plump, red-haired little woman was serving food to some of the guests, while her husband was working the bar and a young redheaded girl (presumably their daughter) wiggled through the tables and people with one or two trays of either food or drinks. It was a nice place, however, Haytham Kenway could hardly concentrate on the niceness of this place or the other guests. He had balled his left hand so hard around his glass it was almost crushed under his stone hard grip. That explained the worried look of the bartender at least. He was worried for his glass, not so much for Haytham, who was boiling with anger.

"What did you just say?" The blurred fog lying over his senses had vanished rather quickly, during Hickey's little monolog. Now his senses were back with all their ferocity, screaming for revenge - if necessary.

"What?" Hickey chuckled and patted Haytham's shoulder lightly, but when Haytham turned his face to look at his old companion, Hickey seemed to understand the seriousness of the current situation even in his apparent state of intoxication. "He's a slimeball and wants to choke your boy! That’s hardly surprising, isn't it? Connor can be an impish lil' shit, y'know?"

"You said _when he learned about her pregnancy_. When was that? When did Charles _learn_ about her _pregnancy_? Even I only did so when Connor appeared at my doorstep!" Haytham hissed, his voice only a dark slur.

"Well, back then I guess. Sixteen years 'go. You really had no clue, hadn't you? That she was pregnant, I mean. Well, Charlie always said you were a bit slow when it comes to stuff like this, but- Where are you going?"

Haytham was already out of the door when Hickey noticed that he had gotten up to leave the place. He had no time to waste with this man. He had something else to do. He had more pressing matters to attend to. There was someone who needed their teeth punched in desperately.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: NO graphic discription of violence, because I am terrible at this. So please feel free to imagine how brutal Haytham beat up Charles. Sorry~ XD I am unworthy...

It was snowing when Haytham got out of his car after he miraculously found a vacant parking spot down the road in the street where his good old friend Charles was living. His friend and associate was living in a very quiet and secluded neighborhood in the suburbs of Boston, just like Haytham and yet it was quite hard to find a spot right in front of the house most of the time. Most houses were already dark, but as Haytham got out of his car and started to approach the house of his friend, he saw a curtain move out of the corner of his eye and an elderly woman looking straight at him. In a neighborhood such as this one, the arrival of a stranger never went down unnoticed. However, tonight Haytham did not much care for this curious woman in her kitchen window, as he entered his friend's property and hurried up the small pebble stone path to his door. There was still light in Charles's office upstairs and since he had no family to wake up, Haytham pressed down on the doorbell without thinking twice, waking the dogs inside the house.

He had never liked those little balls of fluff, he liked big dogs more. Dogs like wolves. Liam would someday be a great companion for _his_ pup.

It took a moment after the Pomeranians started barking (though their high pitched barks could hardly even classify as barking), until the lights in the hallway behind the front door were turned on and until he heard the steps of his friend coming down the stairs. The moment his friend and colleague opened the door, Haytham felt like exploding right then and there. On his way from the pub to his friend's doorstep, he thought about what he wanted to say to this prick, he had thought about what he would do as soon as he would look right into his face. Yet he was not prepared and when Charles's eyes widened in surprise and a smile started to spread on his face at the sight of his friend, Haytham's fist thundered down right onto his nose. Maybe it was not very gentlemanly from him, but he definitely felt better, as Charles stumbled backward into his own hallway, gripping for his now very bloody nose with his dogs jumping up and down beside him.

"From the way you greeted me earlier, I would assume you have something on your mind you want to tell me, Haytham?" Charles asked later that night, as they sat side by side on his couch in the large living room.

He was still boiling with anger, but he felt better for sure, while Charles was pressing a cloth to his still bleeding nose, with the teakettle idly doing its wok on the stove in the background. A fine British gentleman never forgot his duty and manners as it seemed, not even when his _guest_ just punched him in the face. The two Pomeranians, Charles called his dogs, were sitting together on the only armchair. Charles had spoiled them rotten in all those years, treated them like children even and Haytham always wondered what it was about those strange dogs Charles liked. Now he knew, he briefly thought. They were slimy little shits, always hungry for the attention of their master, always greedy to be praised - just like Charles. Obnoxious little creatures.

"My father once said he did not trust you for one second." Haytham began with a low growl to his voice. "He said you were a lickspittle and that your dogs had made him come to this conclusion about you. I always thought my father was just a bit odd himself and had his somewhat weird ways of looking at other people and though I still believe that this is true, I can see now what he meant. My father needed only ten minutes to come to this conclusion sixteen years ago, I needed a lot more time and thus I believe I am still lacking the wisdom my father possesses, though I always believed it to be different. I always thought I knew better."

A long moment of very uncomfortable silence followed Haytham's little monolog in which he did not answer Charles's question even the slightest bit. "Haytham" Charles finally broke the silence as he spoke up again and nervously cleared his throat. Out of the corner of his eyes, Haytham noticed how he was gripping into the fabric of his trousers briefly. Even at home, there was not a single crease or wrinkle in his clothes no matter how late it already was. "I'm afraid I cannot follow. What have I done to deserve being punched or even being mistrusted by you?"

Oh, this cowering, weak man! How was it even possible, that he had never noticed that Charles Lee had no backbone? It was a miracle he was able to stand straight really, though his father would perhaps consider that this was only possible for the giant broomstick Charles had always shoved up his arse. "When did you learn that I have a son, Charles?" The question lingered for a moment longer than it needed in the air and that alone told Haytham that Lee's next answer would be a lie.

"Well, last October of course, just when you learned about his existence."

"Wrong. Oh Charles, you really should have decided to speak truth to me right now. How am I ever going to trust you again, if you cannot even tell me the truth in a moment such as this one?" Haytham glared at him if only for a second before he stared into the flames of the fireplace again.

"I'm sorry, but-"

"You knew Ziio was pregnant sixteen years ago, didn’t you?" Charles gasped for breath like a goldfish in its glass, but Haytham did not wait for a response. He felt like punching this fucking asshole once again if he would speak again or even lied once more to his face. Maybe one would think he was overreacting, but it was not only that Charles did not talk to him about Ziio back then. Oh no. That he had not talked to him about her meant so much more. "You knew it and you did not say anything, even after I told you that we broke up."

"I didn’t feel as if it was my right to say anything." Charles gasped, but Haytham shushed him with one sideways glance.

"You knew it and you did not say anything." He repeated quietly. "You played the worried friend oh so well, Charles. You always had an open ear for my thoughts about the situation and while I pondered about her reasoning, you knew it and you haven't said a thing."

"I thought it might be better this way. You said it yourself. You were always fighting!" Charles exclaimed with flushed cheeks, while the kettle on the stove was slowly starting to boil and shake.

"I am not saying that I would have wanted to get back together with her, Charles! But the moment you knew that I would have a child with this woman was the moment a friend would have told me about it. This was about more than Ziio and me, Charles! It was not just about being together with her! I could have been there when Connor was born. I could have been there when he said his first words or started walking. Everything! I could have seen him grow up and all that you took from me when you did not say anything." Maybe this was what hurt the most. By now, sixteen years later, he was aware that Ziio and he would not have had a chance. They had been bound to fail right from the start, but he had a child and he could have been his father.

"You never seemed very interested in having kids!" Charles exclaimed, now foaming with anger himself, though normally he barely showed his anger to Haytham in any way. "When I ran into her as she left the pediatricians I knew right away that she was with child! Her look alone told me, as she noticed me. She looked oh so surprised to see me, just like a child caught with the hand in a cookie jar! I told her that you was not interested in having children and that the company was everything of matter to you! And then she finally did what was right and left you. This was the best she could have ever done!"

"What gave you the right to do this?" Haytham finally shouted as he jumped up, his hands balled into fists. The betrayal stung oh so very much. "I trusted you more than anyone else!"

"Exactly because of this trust, Haytham!" Charles yelled as he jumped up from the couch and began pacing through the living room and his silly dogs stared at him in surprise, whimpering nervously. "I knew you would have gotten back together with her, as soon as you would have learned about the child! I knew you would have wanted to marry her and make this child a legitimate Kenway right from the start and I knew this family would have held you back in the future! I only had the best for you in mind! The company needed you! I needed you! That was more important than this bastard child or this savage! You would have never been willing to make the decisions you did make with a family to look after!"

Finally, Haytham had reached the state of anger, when all the anger was making him feel dull and numb. He could only look at Charles with resentment, not able to recognize his once best friend. "And when I talked to you about that kid roaming around my property you knew he was my son and when you saw him and no one was there to stop you, you wanted what? Did you want to kill him or just scare him away for good?"

Charles finally stopped in his inane pacing, his fists clenched, as he now stared with bulging eyes at Haytham, his mustache vibrating under the deep breaths he took. It was the face of a man confronted with his unspeakable crimes, though Haytham did not believe that it was guilt or self-loathing committing Charles to this anger. No, it was the anger of having been caught. "When I saw this little maggot in your backyard I only wanted to snap his throat as I should have long ago. The moment you introduced Ziio to me, I knew she was no good for you. I knew she meant trouble and that she did! I was right! When I learned about her pregnancy I gave her money to stay away from you, but this idiotic woman just threw it at my face! And yet she stayed away because she knew it would not be decent to chain you to her only because of this child! Oh, I hoped she would just abort or lose this creature!"

He wanted to murder this man. He wanted to grab the next sharp or heavy object to bring an end to this ridiculous existence. "And after I took my son in and decided to give it a try, you talked to your good friend Pitcairn, didn’t you? You wanted to get rid of Connor by all means, even if that meant that he would leave on his own because he was beaten bloody, humiliated and even sexually harassed by his teacher." He was quite proud on how cold and calm he stayed during this little summary of what had happened to Connor.

"He owed me a favor." Charles growled. "I said he should make sure that the boy would decide on running away after I heard that you got into an argument before. I said he should do everything it would take for him to give this kid a good scare."

"And you did not care what would happen to him if he would indeed run away, as he then finally did, didn’t you?"

"Not at all, no." Finally, Charles seemed to calm down just as much as Haytham, it was an odd state they were in. Suddenly nothing seemed to matter any longer between them. Their friendship was over, dead and buried forever, the trust Haytham had felt over sixteen years for this man broken into tiny little pieces. "I hoped he would go on his own. I hoped he would have an accident or get killed or just vanish forever from here so that everything could get back to how it was before. I even made sure that his uncle would know every little detail about the things Pitcairn had done to him and I told him that you knew about it."

"So I would easily enough lose custody to this man, who had treated my child like shit all his life." Haytham finally concluded and he felt like laughing. How in the world could he not have noticed how vile this man was? How in the heavens could he not have noticed what game Charles was playing?

"I am sorry, Haytham."

"No, you are not. You are not regretting what you have done. You only regret that you have been caught. Why Charles? _Why_? By the love of god, tell me why you did this! Why did you betray me and our friendship like this? Why hurt an innocent boy? And please spare me your excuse that it was for the sake of the company!"

"I could not stand you losing all focus on the company, as you did as Ziio was in your life!"

"No. you could not stand losing _me_ , that is what you want to say but can't, am I right? Jealousy! All that for jealousy! Really?" The truth hit him harder than he would have ever imagined. Surely he had always known that Charles was maybe a bit too obsessed with him, but not like that.

Charles was silent, biting down on his tongue to silence the traitorous thing, but Haytham finally rose from his spot on the sofa with a faint shake of his head. "You should be glad my father did hear none of that, for he would beat you to death for sure." Slowly he walked to the living room door. "I think we do not need to discuss your leave from the company. I don’t have any legal reasons and means to support my decision of removing you from the company, but I do think you are very well aware of the fact, that I cannot trust you any longer."

"Haytham I-"

"One word, Charles." Haytham growled as he turned around one last time to look at the man he had called his closest friend. "Just one word and I swear to god, I will punch your brains out."

\----------

"Why can't I go visit him? He is my _father_!" Connor exclaimed in the middle of his uncle's black and white tiled kitchen. It was weird having a so modern kitchen out here in a settlement like this when everything else was made out of wood. The coffee machine and the high-tech dishwasher looked straight out of an advertisement. It was wrong. It felt wrong and it looked wrong. It was like stepping into another world coming from outside into this house and this kitchen. But all of this did not matter much to Connor now and so did his aunt or Kanen'tó:kon, sitting at the kitchen table trying to enjoy their meal as they did on every other normal day. Kanen'tó:kon, however, looked as if he would very much like to be swallowed whole by the earth. He was a peace-loving guy and he did not at all like fights.

"Your father!" His uncle snorted and leaned back in his chair with a loud squeak of the wood, while Connor still stood there with clenched fists. "A father that did not try to get into contact with his only child for fifteen years is hardly a father, don’t you think? Plus, you cannot expect me to send you to a man who gladly gives his only son over to a man who treated him like a mad dog!"

"He did not know about me!" Connor exclaimed furiously as he stepped closer to the kitchen door, while outside the sun was slowly rising above the high treetops of the surrounding forest. "And he did not give me over to Pitcairn to be treated like a mad dog! He didn’t know!"

"It seems he doesn’t know much, concerning his child, right? A real parent – a good father, would know such things about his son!"

"Stop acting as if you would care! You never cared about me, so why do you do now? Has granny told you to bring me back here?" Of course, she had, and Connor was not dumb enough to really believe anything his so called uncle would try to tell him in this regard. Not after he still recalled all the nasty names this man had called him in the past, many of which he had never said to Connor's face of course, but behind his back, which made it all the more worse, in Connor's eyes.

His uncle set his jaw and when his glare hit Connor like a sledgehammer right in the bowels, he knew that anything he would say next would set this man off on a rampage."You are just like your father, ungrateful and selfish to the very core, even after everything we have done for you and your mother!"

"You know what? I'm proud then. Fuck you. What have you done for me or my mother anyway?" Connor hissed as he balled his fists and clenched his jaw. He was furious, more than he had ever been before in his very young life. However now he felt as if the whole world was against him as if it would not really matter what he was going to do or say, for things could not possibly get worse! He had not heard of his father since he was forced to leave his house and not even his grandfather had tried to reach out to him. He was all alone, as it seemed and he was oh so very tired of feeling like this. He was tired of being the odd one out. He was tired of being frowned upon solely for existing. He was tired of knowing that everyone in this village thought him to be a burden not only for their community but for his late mother too when she had been still alive. And then there was his father who had shooed him away numerous times, not willing to accept that he was his son, giving him into the care of teachers who hated his guts. Since he was back from New York, Connor had tried not to think about Pitcairn as much anymore, but it was almost impossible not to think about a man who had humiliated him so horribly. What if his father had known about this and decided to let it happen to him? What if he had wanted Connor to run away back to his tribe? Maybe he only went after him because of his reputation and because even Bill Miles went after his runaway son. Surely his father had not wanted to let everyone know that he gave a shit about this kid who claimed to be his child! That was why he had not yet tried to contact him for sure! He could have at least called him or written an email! He did not.

"Yes right, what _did_ we do for your mother, after she turned her back to us and our culture for this man? It is not like we have taken her back after she fell on her nose with this glorious love affair she had with your father, right?"

"It's no crime to fall in love with someone outside your own culture!" Connor growled and he already heard little Liam approaching the scene on his tiny, tiny paws. "Don’t act as if she would have committed murder just because she fell in love and got pregnant!"

"She was engaged!" His uncle yelled and Kanen'tó:kon almost spat his cornflakes all over the kitchen table. "My silly sister was engaged when she decided to run off and rebel against our community and system! She was a disgrace to our tribe and our traditions and all that only because she wanted to have her way with things! Your mother only ever came home when something went wrong in her little fairy tales she was living in from time to time! She did this all her life! She ran away when she was a teenager, she came back when she got her heart broken to live with us again and profit from our community only so she would run off again to find a new adventure!"

"She was engaged?" Connor finally found his voice again, though it was much quieter now than it had been before. The news came as a shock to him, though he did not really understand why that was. Well, his mother had never married and never expressed the wish to marry, at least not to Connor, though he had always wondered if she would have married his father if it had come to this. Somehow he felt a little bit lost hearing that she had been engaged before, that she should have married a man who was not his father apparently. It was ridiculous, really, still, he felt somewhat betrayed all of the sudden.

"Yes, she was." His uncle hissed and to Connor, it was quite a miracle that he had no foam in front of his mouth like a rabid dog. "She was to marry a good friend and business partner from another tribe on the other side of the mountain. But of course, he was not good enough for precious little Kaniehti:io. No, no one was ever good enough for her. And when she finally came back home, pregnant with you, of course, he didn’t want her and her bastard child any longer. And do you want to know something, _Connor_?"

"It's enough, Teiowí:sonte." His aunt suddenly chimed in a flashed him a dark glare. She rarely spoke up. Connor never knew what to make of his aunt. She was just like everyone else in this community and she had never liked his mother too, but now she seemed to want to protect Connor from the things his uncle had to say. Most men in their community respected their women and mothers greatly. In their culture, women were sainted beings, for they were the ones capable of giving birth and creating life. That was why their leader was his grandmother, a woman.

"No, it's not. Let him hear the truth!" His uncle replied, spitting every syllable. "He shall hear that it was his fault that she was sick! _He_ made her sick, for she needed to work twice as hard because of him and thus never had time to go to the doctors! She could still live! She could have beaten her illness if she would have had the time and the money to treat and fight it! She would have never been in this situation if she would have married- Where are you going?!"

But Connor was already out of the kitchen. He only stopped to grab Liam from the ground, before he left the house without taking his jacket. The world outside as covered in snow. A perfect winter wonderland, a beautiful, pure landscape. The white was hiding every ugly detail underneath its cold blanket and Connor's footsteps only left faint traces of all that was lurking underneath the snow, as he ran past the houses or the very few other people he came across. Some of them turned their heads in surprise seeing him, though everyone already knew that he was back. Of course, they knew! They thought he had gotten rejected by his father and came back himself! At least the children thought that this was the truth. It was awful. Some of the women would look at him in pity because they, of course, pitied the _orphan_ boy who was not even wanted by his father and the men whispered behind his back that it was no wonder his father send him back home.

Most of them thought his father was a married man with a family of his own and that Connor simply had been too proud to come back home earlier. He could not stand this nonsense any longer and he did not even care where to go to. For just a second he thought about the old man, who had found him in the woods before. Achilles and his wife. Surely he could run there, but then again, no. He would not burden them with his troubles. He would burden no one with his troubles ever again. If his family did not want him, if his uncle made him responsible for his mother's illness and death, if his father did not want him back, then he would make it on his own.

He was able to make it, he knew that. His mother would have been able to if it would not have been for him. He slowed down a bit right after he passed the gates and stumbled up the hill towards the forest. As a child, he had played up there with the other kids and he remembered a time when the other kids and he himself had been so young, so innocent, that not one of them had known about the difference between him and them. Maybe there was none. That was at least what he had always liked to think. He had always told himself that there was no difference other than maybe the slightly lighter tone of his skin, he had always wanted to believe, that the other kids would understand this too some day. They never did and Connor began to understand that he was indeed different.

When he finally entered the forest he felt cold and uncomfortable and exhausted, so he slowly slumped down on a nearby tree trunk, before he sat Liam down too. The pup sniffed at the snow and began jumping around the tree trunk, excited to be out here again, but also sensing Connor's distress, for he would not wander off as he usually liked to. What if Liam would smell his family and run off? Well, he could not blame him if he would, for it was exactly what he did, right? But he would feel lonely if he would lose Liam too.

Slowly, he buried his face in his hands as he leaned forward a bit, his elbows resting on his knees. What a ridiculous thing to think! Liam was a wolf! He was no cute little puppy dog! He was a wild beast and no pet animal! Of course, he would follow his instincts if they were to kick in and it would be better if he would too. He did not belong in his world! Still…

What if his uncle was right? What if it had been his fault all along? Would his mother have been happy with this stranger she should have married? Would she be still alive maybe? Would she have had more than just one child? Would her husband have brought her to the doctors immediately when the first symptoms kicked in? Perhaps she regretted her decision of keeping him and not marrying this man. Perhaps that was why she decided not to fight the illness? She could have fought it, couldn’t she?

"Why didn’t you fight it?" Connor finally hiccupped and heard Liam's little whimpering as he came closer again. The pup pressed his little nose against Connor's knee softly. "Why didn’t you even try to fight it? Couldn’t you stand being with me any longer?" Of course, there was no one to answer him. Of course, he was all alone in the empty cold white woods and if anyone was to see him here talking to himself they would think he was insane, but he did not care right in that moment. He was all alone by himself. He had only Liam accompanying him and Liam would not judge him. Right now all he wanted to do was to curse at the heavens and cry his eyes out if necessary! His mother had left him though she could have fought her illness, though she could have stayed with him! Maybe it was not that easy, at least that was what his granny would say, wouldn’t she?

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, what are you doing out here?" He would have laughed if his situation would not have been so very dire. He did not want to look up. He did not want to lower his hands again, as he heard the slowly approaching footsteps from his right-hand side, coming from the forest, not from the village. The steps of the person, shuffling through the thick layer of snow were accompanied by the distinct sound of a walking stick supporting the weight of the person who was usually walking slightly hunched over, their back aching under the weight of all the years they had lived and all the hardships they endured. "Are you sure you want to sit out here in the cold without a jacket, dear?"

His granny was still very agile for her age and as Connor looked up to gaze at her, her face still looked like a raisin – maybe even more so than he remembered, but her eyes were still sharp and she did not hesitate to slowly sit down beside him on the wet, cold trunk. Surely she had seen that he was crying and surely she had heard him talking before. She knew why he was out here all by himself. She knew how much his uncle hated him. "Why did you force me to come back here?" Connor asked with a sore throat after the first few seconds of uncomfortable silence had passed, which he had used to get his voice at least somewhat under control. "Why couldn’t I stay with my father? I am not welcome here!"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, you knew that this was going to be only a period of trial. You knew that your stay with your father was only temporary to see if you would get along." His grandma answered in her so very familiar and unchanged way. He never experienced his grandma to be agitated; she was always calm and self-conscious. To him, she was like an old tree with her roots so deep in the soil of their land that it was almost unthinkable to imagine her somewhere else. As a child, she always reminded him of the willow tree in Pocahontas and now, when he looked at her, it was all the same. He felt calm being with her – well, _calmer_. However, on the same instant, he had not missed her as much as he thought he would.

They always got along quite well. They had this quite special bond between grandmother and grandson, something he could not name. They were not affectionate towards each other, his grandmother never spoiled him, never cooed over him, never coddled him, but they always seemed to have shared a deeper understanding of the world around them and still Connor felt as if he would understand nothing at all about the world.

"But why now? Uncle Teiowí:sonte wants me to stay here! Why? He hates me! Why can't he just let me go and live with my dad? Does he hate me so much that he does not want me to be happy?" Connor finally hissed and ruffled trough his very unruly, unkempt hair. It was getting a bit too long, he briefly thought.

"Well, were you happy with your father?" A trick question, he knew, yet he needed to answer it in earnest.

"I started to." Connor murmured and looked down on his feet.

"Then why did you run away to New York instead of coming home?"

"Because…" He paused for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. "I thought Dad wouldn’t want me. I thought he would be glad if I would not be with him anymore. I thought of coming back here, but then I didn’t. I don’t feel at home here anymore. I feel like I am a burden. I feel like no one wants me here like I don’t belong. But when I'm out there I still feel torn. There is no place I really belong too, that’s why I decided to go with Desmond because he felt the same as I. I thought if I would make it to London, to my grandpa, maybe things would start to get better."

"What changed?" She was simply staring straight ahead, watching the trees and the softly vibrating branches in the cold breeze washing over the forest, as if they were just discussing the weather.

"Dad came for me." He shrugged his shoulders. "I didn’t expect him to come for me. I thought he would simply forget about me and go on with his life as he did before, but he came all the way to New York to look for me and he has not once scolded me for running away. But now he has not even tried to contact me since I am here. Maybe he is glad after all that I am gone now."

"Do you think he does not want to get you back?"

"I don’t know. He could have called me… Maybe I should have never been born." He expected a slap in the face or to be hit over the head with her walking stick, but she did none of that, so Connor gently scooped up Liam again.

"Maybe you shouldn’t, but you were and now you need to figure out what to do with this gift of life you have received."

"But my mother should have married another man. She should have never given birth to me!" Connor replied a bit angrier. He liked the honesty his grandmother always spoke with, but now he just felt uprooted and devastated.

"Who says what she was supposed to do and what she shouldn’t have done? Of course, she was originally engaged to a member of another tribe, but still, she was free to do whatever she liked with her life and I made that very clear to her. Her brother sadly saw it quite differently and he never accepted her choices."

"But she died because of me! She didn’t fight her illness, because of me! She wanted to get away from me!"

"You are really quite self-centered if you believe that, Ratonhnhaké:ton, and I cannot remember that your mother would have raised you to be so selfish. I don’t know who put those ideas into your head, but your mother did what she could to survive. If she wouldn’t have wanted you, she wouldn’t have gotten you in the first place. My daughter was a strong minded, strong willed woman. She knew what she wanted in life and she wanted _you_. When she first told me about her sickness, she made it very clear that there was nothing that could be done, Ratonhnhaké:ton. She could only buy time and that she did and then she died. This is how things are and I don’t need to tell you that. You are a clever boy. Your mother loved you dearly."

"What am I going to do now?" Connor scoffed. It felt weird hearing his granny comfort him like that, for she normally never did. Every other person saying those things to him, Connor would have called a liar, but not his granny.

"Well, you can only wait and see what's going to happen. Until then, if you would prefer, you can live in your old house."

\--------

Edward Kenway had seen many things in his long life and he had done many things. He himself had sat in jail more than once – though mostly for minor misdeeds and never longer than a few days. Mostly he had been thrown in jail for one night to sober up or because he had gotten into a bar fight. So, he was not exactly new to this. He had seen police stations and cells all over the world and for all he knew the most interesting people he had ever met and had still contact with, he had met under these circumstances, such as his good old friend Thatch, or lovely lady Mary. All of this changed as he came back to the United Kingdom and started the company. A part of him always hoped that his son would follow in his footsteps, not only concerning the business in itself but also in terms of _experiences_.

Well, of course, Edward always wanted what was best for his children, thus he sent them to the best schools, even if it meant he needed to send his children to boarding schools. Maybe it was not a big surprise that Haytham was such a slowpoke after his whole life had gravitated around the higher education and the correct behaviorism and manners and yet Edward had always been quite surprised and a bit disappointed that his only son apparently had no sense of fun. Haytham had never shown any signs of misbehavior or rebellion against his parents or really anything. He should be proud – that was what Tessa always used to say. He should be proud that they had such a good son, but to be honest, Edward had been quite relieved, as he met Connor for the first time. Just a normal boy, who rebelled against his father's orders. It was beautiful.

There was not much that could still surprise Edward after his long life and everything he had experienced in the past, that was at least until he got the call from the police station this very morning. Now he was here, walking through the building and had the hardest time not to grin or smirk or show how proud he really was.

"Would you mind wiping that grin off your face?" Haytham's voice was hoarse and raspy from the night he had spent in a cold cell on a hard bench, surrounded by other stupidly drunk people. It came as no surprise to Edward that one of the men accompanying Haytham in the cell was his good old friend Hickey, but Thomas had been still sleeping, when Haytham was released from the cell and only slumped to the side to lie flat on the metal bench. Never in his life would Edward have expected that he would bail out his son from jail like this. However, nothing seemed normal anymore.

Not since Connor was gone at least.

"I'm sorry, lad, but I can't help it. I am so proud." Edward snickered when they finally left the station. His son was pale even in the faint light of the rising sun. He seemed tired and worn out. When Haytham had received his personal belongings from the front desk of the station, Edward had shortly noticed that the knuckles of his hands were bruised and bloody, however, his son seemed not to be severely injured, except for his split lips and the blossoming bruise under his left eye. "What happened? Did you get in a bar fight?"

"No." Haytham moaned, blinking against the sunlight like a bat. "I got into an argument with Charles."

"With Lee? Why?" Edward asked surprise written all over his sun-kissed features as they slowly walked towards the taxi. Haytham's own car was apparently still in Charles's neighborhood, so their first duty of the day would be to retrieve the car.

"He wouldn’t stop talking." Haytham groaned and slumped down heavily on the backseat, after he ungracefully crawled into the car, looking as if he was ready to die any minute now. Edward was not sure if his son was just terribly hungover or if he was just hit by the shame of having spent a night in jail so hard. "I told him I would punch his brains out if he wouldn’t stop talking."

Edward had never been prouder in his life as in this moment, after his son had told him everything that had happened during the last night, from the point when he and Hickey were in that bar, up until the point when the police arrived at Charles's house after the neighbor had apparently called them for the ruckus next door. Charles had apparently decided not to charge Haytham with the assault and Edward was not quite sure if this was because the man would feel guilty for his wrong doing oh so many years ago or in the more recent past, or if it was only because he still adored Haytham. Edward had never liked the man. He was a vile creature and he had always been quite freaked out about the obsession Charles felt for his son. He did not care much if Charles was gay or in love with his son. Hell, why should he? But Charles's fixation on his son had been quite unhealthy as proven now.

When the taxi had stopped near Charles's house where Haytham's car still waited for them, he had wanted to visit Charles's home to give him a good punching too, but instead he had paid the taxi driver and got behind the wheel of Haytham's car, with his son by his side on the passenger's seat. He did not want to think about how much they had missed because of this man. He did not want to dwell on the sole fact that he had missed his grandson's first words and first steps only because of this man. Charles Lee had robbed their family – not only Haytham – of many precious years with this boy and all that only because of his own jealousy.

There was no point in dwelling on it, he guessed, though the pirate in him still wanted to rip his head off. Dwelling on that fact would not bring back those years or would turn back the time. The only thing they could do now was to fight for custody and to get Connor back into their family so they could spend the rest of their lives with this child.

"Say it." Haytham scoffed next to him as Edward drove the car down the interstate outside the big city, watching the cars passing by with tired eyes. Only shortly Edward glanced at him from the side before he focused again on the traffic.

"Say what?"

"Say _I was right_ already. I know that’s what you're thinking, isn’t it? And you were! You were right all this time. You said Charles was someone I should not trust, but I thought I would know so much better than you and now we're here."

"Well, I was right." Edward sighed. "But I am not happy about this. I would have never expected something like this to happen, to be honest. I thought he might betray you when it comes to the company, but never on such a personal level. I wouldn’t have thought that you would become so close friends only to be betrayed so horribly by that man. So yes, I might have been right about his character, but I am not glad about it."

"What do we do now? The authorities are now thinking that I knew about Pitcairn's attacks on Connor, that I even supported this. It was Charles who told Connor's uncle and no court in the world would now still believe my story or give me back my child." Knowing his only son, Edward was very well aware of the fact how hard it was for a man such as Haytham to admit to his failures, so he would not dwell on it. His son was a proud man and he was rarely wrong about the things he felt or said. Understanding now how wrong he had been in regards of Charles Lee must be crushing enough for him.

"Well, there is only one thing we can do and to our luck that is what we Kenways do best. We fight."

Haytham only spared his old father a sideways glance, his left eyebrow slightly raised. "I do need to go to the company. Jenny expects me during a conference with the union." His son then explained, though Edward had caught himself hoping just for one split second his son would have finally come to his senses. Instead, he tried to escape into his work yet again. The sign announcing the next slip road came like an angel announcing a new hope to Edward, as he swiftly maneuvered Haytham's car onto the right lane to leave the motorway. "Where are we going?" Haytham hissed, sitting up straighter in his seat, as he clearly recognized that this was not the right way to go at all.

"We are going to go to war, son."


	15. Chapter 15

Haytham was freezing as they arrived in front of the Kanatahséton village. They needed to leave their car behind at the end of the street, where the asphalt ended and the gravel stone path leading through the forest began, simply because of the fact that from there on only police cars, ambulances and firefighters had the right to trespass further into the woods. Haytham was not particularly fond of hiking, as Connor had remarked so cleverly before when they had tried to go on a walk together not long ago. It was not like he was not fond of nature, but … well, he was more of a cosmopolitan guy. He supposed it was part of the charm of this place, that there was no cars around and only a narrow gravel stone path leading towards the open gate of the village. His father seemed to enjoy it, though, just as he did the first time they were here before - too in search for Connor.

Well, of course, this time they did not exactly search for the boy for they knew that he was here, but Haytham felt just as agitated as he did back then. The only difference was that back then he had not admitted to himself that he indeed had felt agitated. Back then, he had tried to convince himself that Connor was not his child and that he was only unnerved by all this trouble this kid had meant for him, beginning with his father forcing him to go look for this imposter. Now … Well, during the time he had been able to spend with Connor especially after the New York incident, he had noticed all the small things and traits Connor clearly got from him. The way he lounged on the sofa for example or the way he frowned whenever things would not go his way.

"I'm sure that when we talk with his uncle like reasonable adults, we will be able to convince him to hand Connor over again." Edward stated behind him, though _reasonable adult_ was not the first thing that would pop into Haytham's mind looking at his father. For a second Haytham glanced at him over his shoulder. He did not look as old as he really was, but wandering through the forest like this made it show how much his age took from his energy. He seemed to be a bit exhausted from the way they had taken when they had abandoned their car, though his father was still in good shape and quite active for a man his age. However, Haytham did indeed hear the strained breaths of his father when he spoke.

" _Hand him over_ is not the right way to put it, father. He is not exactly an object someone can _hand over_." Haytham corrected his father with a scoff and though he knew how his father had meant it, he mostly did it only because he wanted to correct him and focus his mind on something other than the task ahead.

"You know what I mean, son." His father sighed behind him.

"I do. But I think you imagine it to be too easy. What if Connor does not want to come back home? After all that happened I could not even hold it against him. I was not exactly the best father I would assume." Which was not an easy thing to admit to himself. He did not like to admit to his failures very much.

"No, you were not, but at least you are seeing that now and admitting one's fault is mostly the first step towards bettering oneself. You can still be a good father for the boy and after all, don’t forget that it had been you rushing to New York as soon as you knew where he was to get him back, didn’t you?"

"What if he is happier here?" Haytham tried to burst his father's bubble, because after all this was a possibility they needed to consider, no matter how uncomfortable it was.

"I doubt that strongly. He told me how much he had hated it here, how bad the others have treated him all the time because of his heritage. Thinking about the racism he experienced here makes me sick to the stomach." His father finally growled right behind him. "Connor is such a sweet child; he does not deserve to be treated like this, for something that is not even his fault."

Haytham bit back any comment to that. Of course, Connor did not deserve to be treated like this! Of course, he was a sweet child! Of course, he was a good kid! He was a nosy brat, he was an _impish little shit_ , as Hickey so elegantly put it, but he was a great kid nonetheless! "Nobody deserves to be treated like this." Haytham instead replied for this was the truth, wasn’t it?

By the end of the day, it did not really matter if Connor was his child or not. No child would deserve a treatment such as this only for being mixed blood. After all, it was not his fault! Connor did not choose this, did he?

When they were close to the gate they stopped shortly, mainly because Haytham stopped to brace himself for what was lying ahead of him. He almost expected to see his son running around the forest close to them or to hear Liam's little woofing. He did not. All that he saw was a tall man leaving the village right as they were approaching it, car keys shimmering silver in his left hand. "You there!" The man called, as soon as he spotted them. "You don’t have access here, leave now."

Haytham would not have expected to be confronted with one of the men of the village right away, but then again, what did he expect really? He still vividly remembered every god darn time he had visited the village - which was not many to be quite frank - and he still knew very much how secluded they were living and how much they hated strangers being even close to their village or wandering _their_ forest and hunting grounds. Haytham only shortly exchanged a look with his father, before he slowly moved on and further down the steep slope leading to the village.

"Excuse me but-"

"Haytham fucking Kenway." Of course. Of all the people Haytham and his father could possibly encounter right away it had to be Teiowí:sonte, Connor's uncle. From afar Haytham had not been able to tell, but now, as they got closer, it was without a doubt Ziio's big mouthed asshole of a brother. Haytham did not stop before they were only a few steps from each other, his father still at his heels. Suddenly there was this little devil sitting on his shoulder, begging him to _please_ punch this fucking asshole in the mouth for everything that had gone wrong lately.

Ziio's brother was a big guy in built and ego, that much was certain. His skin was tanned by years of hard work in the sunlight, though one was to argue that Teiowí:sonte was more of a laid back than a hardworking man. He was a man greatly enjoying the conveniences the civilization of the white man brought with them, always driving the biggest cars and wearing expensive clothes. Still, everyone who did not know this man was easily fooled into believing he was a man working with his hands a lot though in reality he was but a broker, gambling with the money of other people, gambling with other peoples (hard working people) dreams and wished for the future. He was brought shouldered, his ribcage large enough to be mistaken for a bear and he was apparently still shaving his head in the fashion his culture asked for, leaving only a thin trail of black hair as the base of his skull, tied into a pony tail. One thing was certain to Haytham: He would never allow his son to shave his head like this at all. No matter how rebellious Connor would be when he was getting older, never in his life, he would allow something like this!

Right now Teiowí:sonte was clothed in his best suit, clearly on his way to work in the big city. To Haytham it was amazing how a man like Teiowí:sonte could look himself in the eyes and justify his actions, every time he looked in a mirror. He hated the ways of the white men and yet he profited from those ways in an almost perverted way. How was that right?

"Tei-"

"Teiowí:sonte, it is, but I guess you still don't know how to pronounce my name - not that someone like you would care." He was interrupted, but instead of lunging at him right away, Haytham only set his jaw and crossed his arms behind his back. He felt like he was a part of a western movie all of the sudden, standing eye to eye with his arch nemesis, both of them ready to pull out their guns and fire the first and maybe last shots of their lives. "What brings you here?"

"My son, of course. Connor." Haytham answered, giving his best to let his voice sound leveled and calm to an almost comedic extent.

"His name is Ratonhnhaké:ton. You should show a little bit respect to his mother and call him by his real name at least."

He really wanted to murder the guy and if it was not for his father stepping closer, he would have done it perhaps. Oh, Haytham felt still so very much on edge after last night's events and he did not regret a thing. He did not regret beating up Charles in any way, for this fucking prick deserved no better. And yet he was shaken to the core by this betrayal. After all, he had trusted Charles for over a decade! Years and years of trust and friendship broken into tiny pieces within seconds as Charles had been thrashing underneath him, trying to at least put up a good fight.

"We would like to see him." Edward suddenly chimed in, but his expression was grim and there was no question in his voice, nothing that could be mistaken for politeness. He did not ask to see his grandson, he _demanded_ it. Where Haytham was a British gentleman and tried to act like one too, his father was showing everyone that he was just an ordinary Wallisian seafarer by heart. "We would like to speak with him."

"And then what? Do you want to take him back home again?" Maybe under different circumstances, one could mistake Teiowí:sonte's question for the worry of an uncle fearing for his nephew's well-being, but after all the things Haytham had learned by now he was not so easily fooled.

"Indeed." Edward replied sharply with his blue eyes burning into those of the man in front of him.

"He does not want to come with you again and I am not willing to give my nephew to a man who mistreated him so very much that he ran away from home." Teiowí:sonte crossed his arms in front of his chest, making it very clear that he would not falter in any way.

"He ran away from you before." Haytham then scoffed. "I am not willing to leave my son with a man who hates him only for being a white man's child."

"Well then I guess we can call it a tie, right? Maybe we should just wait and see how the court decides on that matter and until then I ask you politely to leave this place. You have no right to be here, you are not invited here and you are most certainly not welcome here. _Connor_ is well and happy being back with his real family again. So please go now or I am forced to call the police on you, for you are trespassing on private property."

They should not have gone that easily. They should have gone back to their car and wait until Teiowí:sonte was gone to try it again. They did not. _Haytham_ did not. It had been him dragging his father back towards the car, while the old pirate wanted to fight the man keeping him from his grandson like a raging bull, for that was the way a man such as Edward James Kenway handled a situation like this one. He felt guilty. The entire drive back home Haytham Kenway only felt guilt for not having fought harder to stay and see the boy no matter what this uncle of his said. Maybe he was just tired after what had happened, maybe he was just exhausted and wanted to get his head clear again, but all this seemed only to be excuses all of the sudden, as he grabbed the steering wheel harder, driving down the motorway towards home.

\------

It was late that night when Connor left his room in the house of his uncle yet again. He was bored to death for there was really nothing he could do, other than to surf the internet all day long. The weather had gotten pretty bad during the last days and still no message from his dad or grandpa. The New Year had hit the country with one of the worst blizzards Connor had ever experienced in his yet quite young life.  Well, of course, that was hardly a good indicator, but still - even he did not dare to wander off in the woods during a blizzard such as this one. The only time he had left his uncle's house during the last days was when he today brought his granny a pot of soup and ate with her in her cozy little house. Every second he could spend outside his uncle's house was like a blessing for him, because after their fight almost one week ago things had only gotten worse between them. By now their latest topic for a fight was school. Of course, school would start up very soon again and his uncle had arranged for him to visit his old school in the nearby settlement again, no matter that Connor did not like that idea very much.

He did not really like his new school, the _Blackhills Academy_ , in Boston too, but he hated his old school in the settlement even more and he missed Desmond. Desmond wrote him messages almost constantly now, talking about how much he was looking forward to seeing him again in school and how they would wreck school together. Connor had not yet scooped up the courage to say him that they would not meet again in a few days as if nothing at all had happened. An hour ago their internet connection had failed him and he was kind of glad about it, otherwise, Desmond would have tried to call him on Skype again. He very much liked Desmond and by now he was quite understanding of the older teen and his way of dealing with stuff. Desmond was a sympathetic guy, but most people in school did not make the effort to get to know him. All they saw was the principal's son and so he could understand that Desmond was eager to get his only friend in school back.

A part of him wondered why neither his grandpa nor his dad had tried to call him on skype though. Well, his dad obviously had no clue how that worked, because he was horribly overstrained most of the time when it came to modern technology. But maybe they were just too busy meeting with lawyers, talking about the situation, trying to get him back - that were the excuses his childish brain still came up with, while the truth was quite clear already.

With Liam at his heels (because Liam was _always_ right on his heels much to his uncle's annoyance), Connor slowly crept through the upstairs hallway. It was not so very late that he needed to be extremely quiet to not disturb anyone inside the home, but he rather not wanted to be heard by his uncle or aunt downstairs in the living room. Kanen'tó:kon's room was a few steps down from his own (the guestroom) near the stairs and when he reached his door he gently knocked but got no answer - which was not so very unusual, for he was maybe wearing his headphones watching a movie or something. Somehow though the situation with his cousin was weird for Connor now. Before all this happened, before Connor went to search for his father (his other family), Kanen'tó:kon and he had spent more time together as they were doing now. Maybe they had grown apart lately. What a weird thing to think, after it had been only two months they had not seen each other.

The room was dark when he opened the door quietly, but the light of the laptop on Kanen'tó:kon's bed was illuminating his sleeping figure. There was still a movie running on the screen and the DVD case lying on the end of the bed. With a small sigh, Connor closed the door again and decided to leave his cousin in peace, not knowing if he really was asleep or just feigning sleep to not talk to him. He seemed to avoid him lately and though Connor had no clue why that was, he tried not to be hurt by this. He had other things to be hurting about.

After he had closed Kanen'tó:kon's door, he and Liam stood in the middle of the hallway and did not know what to do with themselves. Liam yawned heavily, but Connor only grabbed him and held him close to his face. "What now?" He asked the wolf, but Liam used the moment to lick his nose instead of giving a proper reply. "How about a snack?" Because Connor was sadly a person who ate out of boredom. A lot. When he had been a child (well he technically still was a child) his mother always hid the cookie jar in the highest cupboard - which had not hindered Connor on getting the cookies. That was how he had learned how to climb.

He was halfway down the stairs thinking about those exact times when he needed to climb his mother's kitchen, that he got an idea of what he wanted to do. His mother had always taken a lot of photos of him while growing up and suddenly he felt desperate to see them again. It was not far to his mother's house, only a few steps to be honest and though it was still snowing quite heavily he was willing to sneak into the house and get the photo album his mother had stored in the living room. Connor was one of those kids who could never remember where his mother had put something (mostly important stuff), always moaning and nagging her when he could not find something like a brat on TV; however, this was different, for he knew exactly where she had put the album.

It was weird, after all up until now he had never really even thought about the bloody photo album mainly because he-

" _This_ is not okay, Teiowí:sonte." His aunt's voice made him stop all of the sudden though he did not exactly know why he felt like he needed to stop. She sounded angry - but that was hardly new. They often argued, not that it would be any surprise to Connor. His uncle was an asshole after all and his aunt too not the easiest person to be around most of the time. He wondered how his aunt Jenny was after he had never met her in person and only once talked to her on the phone when she had called the house phone to speak with her brother. "It's not right to do that!"

"But we need the money!" His uncle hissed. The living room door was ajar, so he could not see what they were doing when he carefully crept down the rest of the staircase, Liam still on his arms, grabbing him a bit tighter, so the idiot would not barge right into the room, even though he was a bit afraid of his uncle (to no surprise after his uncle Teiowí:sonte always shouted at the little guy for no reason). "Now with the situation at work, we need every cent we can get our hands on! Why not keeping him here and getting the money? Hell! That's what my sister should have done all along! He owes us - our family- this money for raising this brat and keeping him fed and clothed for fifteen years!"

"It was your sister's choice not to ask for money from this man! She decided not to tell him about his child and for her own stupidity he does not own her anything and he does not own us anything! Don’t make someone suffer for something they are not at fault of! Only because you miscalculated so gloriously you cannot go and try to profit from this child! It's not his fault or his father's fault that you are a bad at your job! You need to face the consequences of your actions yourself!" His aunt hissed, eager to keep her voice down, as she argued with her husband so no one would hear them talk about this very delicate situation for keeping up appearances was of very high importance in this community, though no one would admit to that.

Connor needed a moment to contemplate this whole situation. Were they really talking about his uncle getting his ass whooped on his job because he did a shitty job with all the money his clients brought in? Was that the reason why he was so grumpy lately? Was that the reason why- "The decision is made! I already called our lawyer today again and told him that I will indeed claim custody for the boy! You know the law; they will not put up a big fight! I already told him that he might get into contact with the press if necessary and then this fucking asshole Kenway will owe us a shit load of money!"

"This is kidnapping!" His aunt almost shouted, her voice clearly telling of the disgust she seemed to feel either for her husband or his plan right in that moment - maybe for both.

"This is caring for my nephew and securing a great future for this bastard – and for Kanen'tó:kon." He could not believe what he had just heard. He simply couldn’t. How in the world was it possible that people like his uncle could exist? With what right did he decide on keeping him here and away from his family? From his father! Of course the money. Hell, he should have known that it was for the money! What else could it be?

Connor did not care how loud he was, when he jumped into his boots standing next to the door, grabbed his jacket and fled the house, slamming the door shut behind him. He did not care if he was alarming everyone in the entire settlement; he just wanted to be as far away as possible. The storm nearly made him stumble as he barged out of the door and started running right away towards the house appearing in the darkness of the night, gray against the snow, glistening in the moonlight. He reached the house within seconds, not wasting time to look around or to see if he was being followed. The door to his former home was not locked. There simply was no need for something like this in a community such as theirs and even if someone had stolen a thing or two, Connor had not even noticed that when he had visited the house to get his belongings a few days ago. He would not even care either. It simply was not important to him.

It still smelled stuffy inside the house, when he barged through the front door, slamming it against the wall next to it without flinching or batting a lash. Only when they were inside he put Liam down again so he had his hands free as he ran to the sideboard inside the living room. He had no time to look around and he rather did not want to anyway. He did not want to stop and ponder about anything, he just wanted to grab the album and be gone and he did not even care how stupid he was behaving or how insane all of this was.

He slid to the sideboard near the fireplace and got on his knees in one swift motion, ripping the doors open and scanning the folders and books inside, though it was dark and almost impossible to see. However his mother's photo album he would be able to find completely blind. He did not know why for his mother normally absolutely hated stuff like this, but she covered the album in fluorescent stars, shimmering yellow-ish now in the darkness of the room. She even wrote his name in fluorescent paint onto the cover and he remembered her explaining to him once that he had absolutely loved this when he was but a babe. There it was now still sitting where she left it and he grabbed for the album without even thinking about it, before he got back to his feet again and ran out of the house, Liam behind him, though the little one had a hard time keeping up with him through the thick snow.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton!" The voice of his uncle was ripping through the night as Connor ran straight for the gates of the village, but he did not stop and he did not turn around. He did not care if his uncle tried to follow him and he doubted strongly that he would. He was able to leave the village within a few passing heartbeats and was swallowed by the forest shortly after, already frozen to the core by the cold winds ripping at his skin and hair. He did not even really notice, for his heart was pounding so loudly and so very hard in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his frail body, as he was marching forward - to where he did not know.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Shay Patrick Cormac did not like Charles Lee very much, that was indeed no secret among the company or the group of _friends_ Haytham Kenway had gathered during his years after he first came to America (Land of the free and all that bullshit). In the eyes of Shay Patrick Cormac, Charles was a guy one should better not underestimate. He was sly in nature and always tried to gain something from a situation or another person. And yet Shay really believed that it had taken a huge impact on the man when Haytham visited him a week ago in his suburban home. It was not so much the fact that Haytham had beaten him up quite thoroughly, though that might have also hurt Charles's pride and ego quite heavily, but rather the fact that he had lost Haytham's trust and thus the trust of the only person Charles Lee had really seemed to care for all those years.

Shay almost pitied the man, when he watched him through the glass door of the office, trying to look as if he was not at all staring, but studying another report. Sometimes he really was glad for the spot he had in the building, for his office had the perfect location to spy on Haytham and Charles to his heart's delight and to satisfy his inner stalker. The downside of it was, that he was not only Haytham's but also Charles's secretary as well sitting in the lobby between their offices. Well, he guessed, that problem was solving itself right now.

Charles was packing his belongings from his office as it seemed, neatly stacking them into a cardboard box with a face only a Brit could make while doing something like that. He tried to appear utmost dignified as he was packing his very few personal items, storing them away as if he would get a gold medal for the most neatly and orderly packed box. Haytham too was quite orderly, but Charles Lee was a fanatic when it came to order and symmetry. Shay had never been allowed to even touch a thing on his desk for it could ruin the symmetry of the place and ruining the symmetry meant having Charles Lee in a murderous mood for the rest of the week.

He had been quite surprised when Charles entered the office half an hour ago this early in the morning and almost did not recognize him. Normally he had his face neatly shaven, his hair tied back (a little bit like Haytham always did), his always perfectly trimmed mustache the only distinct differentiation between him and his idol Haytham. Today, however, he was a mess. His injuries inflicted by Haytham were still not completely healed yet, but it was quite obvious that he had not taken very good care of himself at all during the last week, in which he had been staying at home.

"What are you staring at, Cormac?" Shay almost flinched like a dog that had been caught peeing on the floor. He had not even realized that Charles had somehow noticed him gawking or even that he had opened his door again.

"The report, Sir." Shay replied as dryly as he possibly could without dying of this immediately. Sometimes he wondered why there were never talent agents around whenever he needed to act like he did just now, looking all professional and as if he had not just gawked at Charles Lee in this moment of personal failure and possible shame over there in this office. "It’s the report of the meeting with the union last Friday, Sir. Miss Kenway just send it and I need to check it before I'll give it to Mr. Kenway senior."

Oh, the joy of seeing Charles fucking Lee with bruises decorating his blotched pink face. Mr. Kenway junior really had landed a few good punches! Well, that was to be expected when someone like Haytham learned about his best friend getting his only child in a dangerous situation, Shay supposed and unlike others, Shay would never make the grant mistake to underestimate someone like Haytham anyhow. Of course, by now he knew all about what had happened. He knew now that it had been Charles's doing that had led to Connor being molested, humiliated and beaten bloody by his teacher for no particular reason at all other than he had apparently been caught smoking on the roof - which really would not justify a punishment such as the one Connor had received and gladly William Miles had already taken steps against Pitcairn, such as reporting him to the police so that he could be trialed for his crimes and of course firing this fucking dickhead. For Connor it had surely been quite humiliating needing to talk to the police and having photos taken of his injuries, that was at least what he was guessing, for that was what Haytham told him. He had not been there himself of course, but judging by the fact that Connor was only fifteen years old and really was quite shy when it came to being naked in any shape or extend…

"Mr. Kenway senior?" Charles replied with a sour expression. Well, even if he had caught Shay gawking at him, what should he do now? He had no power over him any longer and Shay surely would have loved to wipe that smug expression from Charles's face too. Well, he did not look as smug now. And even though Connor was not his child, he felt just as angry about everything that had happened. He liked that kid and he had enjoyed the times when he had picked him up from school to drive him home no matter that this was not part of his job. Connor was a sweet kid and he had liked to see the impact he had on Haytham, though his boss always tried to make it look like he had had no impact at all on him. Well, maybe he simply had not been aware himself. "Where is Haytham? Shouldn’t he look at the report?" Oh, there was this undertone again, Shay hated so much. This implication of Shay not knowing what he was doing. Oh, he would not miss that at all.

"Mr. Kenway Junior is in a meeting with his lawyers."

"Has something happened with the union again?" Charles asked and the contempt he felt for the union or their workers, in general, was dripping from his every syllable. For him, their hard working fishers at the base of the structure that made this company big were mere peasants, not worthy of his time or consideration.

"No. This meeting concerns his son, Connor. His uncle is claiming custody over Connor and wants to make Haytham pay child support, not only from now on but also retroactively for the last fifteen - almost sixteen - years, while he still denies the Kenways any contact to Connor, keeping him almost hostage in this village of theirs. However, I doubt that this really interests you - or troubles you in any way. Surely you find joy in the troubles Haytham and his father are now facing and in the hurt they do experience." Well, he did not exactly plan on giving such a snarky answer, but he could not hold it back either and why in the world should he anyway?

"Hurt!" Charles growled, his face distorted into a horrible grimace, as he balled his fists and a part of Shay was sure Charles would lunge at him if he would give him another reason. Not that he would fear this, after all, he was not exactly a weakling either and he would welcome the opportunity to rip Charles a new one after years of open scorn between them. "What hurt? Hurt over a boy they hardly know? They are no family! _I_ -"

But whatever Charles wanted to say next, he was interrupted when the hallway door was being ripped open and Edward Kenway stormed in Shay's office. For a second the thought that Edward would murder Charles right away crossed Shay's mind, but to his surprise - and enjoyment - Edward did not even spare him a look or acknowledged his existence at all. "Where's Haytham?" The old man asked in his most booming loud voice. He was not angry, but certainly excited about something - in a negative way, for all Shay could tell. His cheeks were red as if he had hurried to come here, but the rest of his face was pale as death and his blue eyes were haunted by another disaster hanging over the house Kenway like a storm cloud.

"He's in a meeting with his lawyers about Connor." Shay replied instantly as he already grabbed the phone, ready to call Haytham if his father would ask him to. Well, he knew the Kenways quite well after all those years that he was already working for them. Most of the time he knew what Haytham wanted before Haytham knew it himself.

"Call him!" Edward exclaimed immediately and only then he shortly glanced at Charles, anger boiling deep down in his guts, his fists shaking as if he was finally thinking about ripping Charles's head off. "Tell him Connor is in the hospital, we need to go right away."

\--------

The blizzard was still raging over the country and made it hard to drive from point A to point B even under normal circumstances. However, now nothing was normal. Now neither of them was calm enough to maneuver a car over slippery roads through a blizzard and yet they had no other choice. Haytham had sent Shay to the village his son was currently living in again, to see if he could get Liam and bring the pup home so he could be provided for properly, while Haytham and his own father were fighting their way through the storm, pushing their car forward through the icy blockades separating them from their very own whelp.

Maybe someone would call this thought-process of his melodramatic, but even in retrospective Haytham found nothing hilarious or embarrassing about this. It was pure panic speaking. Pure panic ruling over his entire body, making him move forward even though he just wanted to grab a bottle of whiskey and forget about absolutely everything. The call was still fresh in his mind and even though Shay had not been able to tell him much it had been the worst call a father could ever receive. Weird how sudden this revelation came to him. All it took was a call from his secretary telling him his son was in the hospital without anything else, for Haytham to realize that he indeed was a father. He had realized this before of course, though it had been a creeping process, starting by noticing the little things he and Connor had in common, over grabbing his son's favorite plush to comfort himself without admitting it to himself as he ran away from home, to the point when he found Connor in that snow covered park. By the time the police came to his house to get Connor and bring him back to his tribe, he had thought that it finally registered with him, then he thought he had hit rock bottom as he heard from Charles how all of this could have happened in the first place. He had thought that those had been his defining moments - the moments he realized he was a parent - but that was not true. The defining moment was this. This nightmare he was stumbling through as they arrived at the hospital when everything around him was just a blur of colors, smells and noises without him being able to register anything of it. He had heard of course what his father told him, but up until now, he could not process it. Simply because processing it would mean breaking down. There was no other option.

He always considered himself to be a strong individual, to be able to understand the tragedies life had to offer. He had been able to overcome the loss of his mother and even Ziio, after he first heard about it. But this … The sudden realization that this was an obstacle - a tragedy - he would not be able to overcome, hit him so hard he almost stumbled by the mere thought. Under different circumstances, he would feel angry at the man - or men - who let it come to this. He would see his son's uncle and would attack him like a wolf, ripping his throat out and feasting on his intestines, but suddenly even rage and fury felt just dull and numb and he could not bring himself to really feel _anything_ other than panic and his heart hammering against his ribcage in a desperate attempt of freeing itself from its chains.

"Haytham" The voice of his father sounded so very far away that Haytham almost did not understand it and for just a short moment, he thought that he was maybe only imagining all of this, that he was maybe still talking on the phone with his father on a sunny late October day, telling him about a teenager pretending to be his son. Sadly he was not. When his father grabbed his shoulder, to Haytham it was clear that this was reality. "Sit down, I'll get you a coffee, son." Edwards's voice was so firm and sharp, the inner child inside Haytham's mind had no other option than to obey, as he grabbed with shaking hands for one of the white plastic stools standing in the waiting area of this after disinfectant stinking hospital, before he managed to sink down and bury his face in his hands.

His son had been found in the early morning hours. That was what Edward had told him. Apparently, some men of the village had found the boy, after Liam had been running around the village barking with his tiny voice for attention, leading those men to his _owner_. They did not know what had happened. Nobody did. The only person who knew was being operated on. Unconscious. His life in imminent danger. And all Haytham could think about was that he could have spoken to his child if he would have just stayed at the village yesterday. It really was weird thinking about how different everything could be right now if he would have resisted more as Teiowí:sonte shooed him away. When he took a deep breath he felt how horribly his eyes burnt and for a fleeting moment, all he wanted to really do was cry. Well, he really was pathetic now, wasn’t he? He had not cried when his mother died or the family dog Thatch. He had not cried when he learned about Ziio's death. He would not cry when Connor- When Connor- _If_ Connor-

"Your coffee." His head jolted upwards as if he was struck by lightning as his father's voice sounded next to him. He had not even heard the old man coming back to him and how long had he been sitting like this now anyway with all those strangers around him, gawking at him and this moment of utter devastation and personal destruction? His father was already sitting on his left-hand side again, their backs towards the large doors leading into and out of the waiting area. From his position, he could see the front desk where the nurses were sitting and registering the patients or giving information to their relatives. Apparently, his father had spoken to them when they arrived, but Haytham could not really recall such an event. Weird. Normally he was always in control over the situations he was stuck in. Never had there been anything divesting his control, maybe with exception of the moment when Ziio broke up with him … or this whole situation of Charles Lee influencing her in such a way. Suddenly he felt as if he had no control at all.

Suddenly his father looked old. Suddenly he really looked like seventy. Suddenly he himself did not feel like forty-two but as if he was already a thousand years old and had witnessed endless wars. He could see the tiredness of his father in his light blue eyes and for now the energetic Edward James Kenway was just an old man, a grandfather in fear of losing his precious grandchild, simply because no one had apparently looked after him or noticed that he had been out there in the woods during a fucking blizzard! How was he even still alive?!

Haytham jumped from his stool again and almost knocked the plastic coffee cup out of his father's hand like this when he started pacing around. "How long will this take?" He hissed. "How long until finally someone is going to speak to us?" He wanted to tear this whole hospital apart!

"They will come to us in time." Edward replied softly and Haytham hated it. He did not want his father talking to him like a father to his son! He wanted his father to explode in agony! Something! Anything! Anything but this! "Give them time, we don’t know what had happened yet. We don’t know how seriously he is injured yet."

"And why is that? I am his father! Where are his aunt and uncle even? Why aren't they here? They had the responsibility after all! They were the ones to look after him and make sure he is alright! Where the fuck are they? How is it possible something like this could happen under their watch?" He was almost shouting and he really did not care. He did not care that he was being gawked at. "Why haven't they taken care of him?"

Because they should have! They were the ones demanding custody and money after all, while he was just demanding the right to have his child in his home and being able to look after him, to see him grow into a man after he had been denied all of this within the last fifteen years. Hell! His son would turn sixteen soon! He would soon finish High School and then maybe visit university. Everything. There was so much still lying ahead of them! He could not being denied all this again. He would not allow being denied all of this. Sadly he had no control over this. There was nothing he could do and maybe this was the worst about it.  He had no power and he was helpless like a child himself.

As this realization finally hit home he sat down next to his father again and grabbed his coffee, to almost burn his tongue on the hot liquid as he immediately took a sip. He did not care. Not at all. "We can only wait and see." His father hummed by his side and laid his hand on his shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze. "And when he gets out of that OR, we will take him home again. You two need to visit me in the summer in London and Jenny said she will visit in April when Connor turns sixteen."

His father spent the next hours (at least if felt like hours) imagining what they would do and experience together as a family as soon as Connor would be well again, but Haytham did not listen at all. He only gulped down on the hot coffee, ignoring the slight pain it caused him. And then finally, after what felt like almost a year of waiting and hoping and praying, there was another voice again, addressing him and his father at the same time. "Mr. Kenway?" Both of them stared at the man in front of them. Of course, after all, they were both _Mr. Kenway_ and the third Mr. Kenway was in the care of the doctors. Mr. Kenway junior-junior, as Shay once humored the whelp. He briefly (and very fondly) remembered how Connor had tried to hide a smile at this with red cheeks. Weird how that exact image appeared in his mind just now.

Haytham jumped from his chair once more as the doctor stepped closer towards them. "I'm Haytham Kenway. I'm Connor's father." He immediately replied though his voice certainly sounded alien to him all of the sudden. His voice suddenly sounded strained and weak and not at all like him. He sounded like … Like one of those fathers in the movies waiting for the worse news, a parent could possibly receive while still anxiously hoping for the best. Oh, this naïveté!

The doctor was in his thirties at best, maybe just finished with his training, maybe inexperienced still! He was blonde and not very tall with his long hair pulled back neatly. He had a sympathetic face, bright blue eyes looking at him with warmth and little freckles dusting his face. Under different circumstances, Haytham would have maybe cared for the man, but now the ugly monster inside his chest was rearing its head again, wondering if this man was at all competent to treat his child! Surely he must be incompetent at best and a dilettante at worst! Only briefly he noticed how his father joined him, locking shoulders with him as if they were indeed going to war and needed to show closeness in the eye of the enemy - namely this doctor.

"I'm Doctor da Vinci." The man said, but Haytham really did not care for his name. "I'm the doctor in charge of your son's case. I just wanted to inform you that Connor has pulled through the surgery just fine and will now be sent to his room. If you would like to, you can follow me to my office, so that I can tell you everything about his condition, until the staff is ready for you to visit him."

He really wanted to listen to what this man had to say about Connor's injuries, but he could not concentrate. No matter how much he tried, he simply could not focus on really anything but the thought that his son was alive. He only got scraps of the conversation, as they entered the office of Doctor da Vinci. The world around him was a chaos of deep voices and nausea and the occasional words his ears picked up from his father or the young physician. Perhaps he should jump in joy for his son was still with them, but he did not. There was this nagging voice, his inner cynic, telling him that he should not rejoice just yet. "…still in critical condition…" He heard the young man say at some point while his eyes were only darting over the various items strewn over his small office. "…internal bleeding…" There were photos standing around his desk, seemingly from friends and family. "…head wound…" His diplomas were neatly hanging on one of the walls. Something about them was odd, but he could not pinpoint it and he did not even know if he should care about something like that.

"Who brought him here?" Finally, Haytham found his voice again and interrupted the two other men in their conversation in which he had no part whatsoever in the moment.

Doctor da Vinci was silent for a moment and looked at him a bit confused before he looked down on the papers lying on his desk and started skipping through the pages. Someone must have been here before them. Someone must have come to the hospital and filled out those documents about Connor. "It seems" The young doctor hummed. "Like it was a person by the name of Oiá:ner. I have not seen the person myself when they got here."

"It's his grandmother. Where is she now?" For now, he did not quite know if he should feel angry that this woman was no longer here, while her grandson was apparently fighting death.

"It appears she left after she wrote down his information. She was also the one who told the nurses to contact you apparently. Of course, I can go and ask the nurses for details. But I believe you want to go see your son and grandson now." It did not take a mind reader to know something as natural as the parental wish to see one's child when it had been hurt or injured and yet to Haytham all this was so alien, that Leonardo really seemed like a person with mind reading powers surely. The man was completely calm when he then guided them through the seemingly endless corridors of the hospital while Haytham was literally melting inside and he was sure his father felt quite similar now.

When they finally arrived in front of Connor's room, Haytham really felt like his eyes fell truly upon the gates of hell. It was just a plain and simple white door with a little window to look into the room and yet he could smell the sulfur of hellfire. He did not dare to look through the small window though and he felt horribly pathetic because of it. Apparently, the doctor had left them, for when his father put a reassuring hand on his shoulder again, the blonde young man had vanished into thin air as if he had never been there as if all of this was only a bad dream. "Go ahead. I go talk to the nurses about his grandmother and if she said anything and then I'll call Shay and ask him if he got Liam." Edward stated as if he was not just as desperate to barge into that room to go see his grandchild as Haytham suddenly were. He nodded sharply and did his best to keep his usual stoic mask intact, no matter how pointless this really felt now for his father already knew how he was feeling deep inside. His father was a father after all too, wasn’t he? He must surely know how it felt being a father with a child in danger.

Only after his father had left him alone in front of that door and vanished at the end of the long corridor turning left to where they had apparently come from, Haytham straightened his back again and laid his hand upon the doorknob. He had almost expected the bloody thing to burn his skin off, but it was cold as ice. He lingered for another heartbeat, feeling the cold metal under his fingers, before he finally turned it, opened the door and forced his body into the room before he could hesitate any longer.

Maybe he had really been expecting hellfire and the screeches of raging demons or the cries of tortured souls in the background, but only silence fell upon his ears. Silence and the small regular beeping of the heart monitor. Yes, his son was still in critical condition as the doctor seemed to have remarked at some point while Haytham's brain had been filled with white noise. Yes, he had still a tube shoved down his throat to breathe. Yes, there was still an IV drip-drip-dripping into his son's body, while a thick white bandage was holding his poor little head together.

Connor looked like dead with his skin suddenly as pale as the sheets, however in the world that was even remotely possible and his freckles seemed suddenly all the more prominent due to the lack of blood underneath the skin of his. When he now looked at the boy he thought he had not seen him for at least seven years since the police forced him out of his home. He suddenly seemed so unfamiliar and strange and Haytham … Haytham felt like the biggest twat in history. He had not called his son or even wrote him an email, but to his defense neither did his father and at least Haytham could make the argument that his lawyer had told him not to contact the boy.

And yet Connor must have felt horrible within that time. Surely he had thought his father had already forgotten about him, already abandoned him yet again and to no surprise! Haytham could not even blame the child for thoughts such as this one after he had not been exactly a good father up until now! Well, he had not been a father at all - not that he had really asked for it, right? He had never been prepared to be a father for Christ's sake so how in the world should he have done a better job in really being a father? It was not like one got a child and simply _was_ a father or would know everything about fatherhood! There was no initiation rite!

His knees felt like pudding as he wandered further into the room and dragged the visitor's chair to the bed so he could sit at Connor's left side. For a moment he thought about picking up his file that was already fastened to his bed, but then he decided he rather grab the small hand lying on the mattress. "You idiotic child… What did you do this time, huh? Couldn’t you just wait until we beat your uncle into submission? No, of course not, right? You are Connor Kenway and you always run around like an angry bear on a rampage instead of just staying put and wait for things to be resolved on their own."

Yes, _Connor Kenway,_ the name was even attached to the small nameplate next to the door, as he had briefly noticed. _Connor R. Kenway_. Up until now, he had not even really thought about this, to be honest. Of course, when he had registered him at _Blackhills Academy_ he had registered him as Connor Kenway simply because the people of his tribe did not really have surnames. He had never asked him if he was okay with using his father's last name. He simply had not cared and all of the sudden he felt like a selfish three-year-old simply dictating something like this as if it was not Connor's decision at all. He had not even asked him if he was okay being called Connor all the time or how he felt being so far away from his tribe.

Well, then again they had not really spoken all that much he supposed. He knew nothing about this kid. Maybe his uncle was right even. Maybe he would be better off with them out there in the woods he so dearly loved! They were his family after all, right? They had seen him grow up! Hell! If he had been the one needing to fill out the form about Connor's person he could not even have done it! He did not know if he was allergic to anything! He did not know if he had had surgery performed on him in the past! He did not know if he could not tolerate certain medicine! He did not even know his blood type and if it was not for Shay he would not even know when he was born! Was his son left or right handed? Was he a good drawer? Was he good at math? What was his favorite color? Die he prefer dogs over cats? Had he had a pet animal growing up?

What if it had been him needing to fill out this bloody form?! Maybe he would have died during the surgery! There was so much he did not know! So much he had never wasted a thought about! He could not even pronounce his son's real name, calling him Connor because it was easier than learning how to pronounce the name his mother had given him…

Shortly he glanced at the door as if he wanted to reassure himself that there was no one watching him as if he was doing something incredibly embarrassing or incriminating in here. "Raton…" Well, he really did feel stupid already. "Ratun…Ratoohnhak- Hell how many _hs_ are in this name? By god Ziio, did you choose this name to taunt me because I will never be able to pronounce it right?"

"Actually she thought about his name quite thoroughly and decided to give him a name fitting for the way he was about to go in life." He had not heard the door opening again and certainly he had not expected Connor's grandmother to appear in the doorway flanked by his father, who only shortly looked at him and then left to leave Haytham and his (almost) mother in law alone again. _Old native woman ex-machina_ , he briefly thought and if they would be in a movie or a story this was the biggest sin a writer could execute. The old woman was still walking hunched over as she walked towards her grandchild's bed, the door falling shut behind her back. "His name means _life that is scratched_ because my daughter already sensed what was lying ahead of that stupid boy. She knew from the moment she knew about him that he would not have it easy in life. Though granted, that was much for her own decision of keeping him a secret from his father. If it wouldn’t be for her stubborn head, her son would have had it easier in life certainly. Still, it’s a strong name she gave him there."

"I thought you were gone already." Haytham finally found his voice again after he shortly cleared the lump in his throat.

"My taxi back to the village needs a bit more time as it seems. I have been waiting at the cafeteria after we arrived here. I don’t like hospitals much or being around those families waiting in the waiting room." She calmly explained waving her left hand dismissively.

"Haven't you been concerned about him?" Maybe there even was a hint of accusation to his tone, but she did not really seem to mind.

"Why should I? Ratonhnhaké:ton is a strong kid, he is not so easy to kill, though I firmly believe his own stupidity and stubbornness will be his end one day. Other than this I don’t like staying away from home long. My people need me and I am sure Ratonhnhaké:ton will understand this. He will be fine now, that was why I told the nurses to call you." He did not want to be in any way disrespectful towards that woman and yet it was almost unbearable not to say something about her performance _now_.

"Why are you here then? Did my father force you to come here and have a look at him?" Oiá:ner's face was completely calm even in this moment of disrespect from Haytham, though the Brit only just begun. "How in the world did something like that even happen? Why hadn’t there been anyone to look after him? How was he able to injure himself like this and then nearly freeze to death because no one noticed him being out there? Shouldn't his uncle have had an eye on him? Isn’t that for what he wants my hard earned money? To have an eye on _my_ child?" He had raised his voice at the woman without even noticing it, but he did not exactly care anyway. He was done being polite to those people. He was done trying to respect their ways and rituals and traditions. Not one of them had informed him about his kid in the past fifteen to sixteen years! Oiá:ner could have contacted him, after all his name was in the telephone book wasn’t it? It was not that hard to find him! Teiowí:sonte could have contacted him! _Anyone_! Was it really too much to ask for them to at least take care of his son while he was in their care after they forced him out of his father's home where he would have been safe?

However Oiá:ner did neither flinch nor bat a lash at his outburst and Haytham blamed the current events in his life for this outburst after all. He was oh so very much done for the time being. Since Connor was in his life everything was just chaos and he missed his orderly existence before that! He wanted to go back to quiet afternoons, tea and good books without anyone interfering! Without chaos! Without his best friend betraying him out of jealousy! Without his son running away to New York leaving him in a state of constant panic! Without uncles taking away his kid! Without his kid landing himself in hospital connected to tubes and machines!

Well … he guessed, he somewhat could go back, couldn’t he? All he needed to do was give up the battle for custody and why was he battling anyway? Should he not be grateful for Teiowí:sonte taking back his child so he could take care of his own life and business again like he was used to? Was he only fighting for custody because his father demanded it or was there another reason? Well, judging by the constant state of panic he was in since he heard of Connor's accident, it seemed that there was indeed another reason.

The old woman stepped closer and started searching her large brown leather bag for something. He hadn’t really paid attention to her appearance at all, but now that he did this woman seemed straight out of another world with her clothes. Oiá:ner had stayed loyal to the traditional clothing style of her people, just as Connor, when he had first, met the boy. It was obvious that she only rarely left the village and yet she emanated an aura of wisdom and grace inside this fast and hectic world. It was easy to mistake her for the occasional insane cat lady judging by her appearance and choice of clothing style, but she did not look like someone who would not know their way around in the real world. She was not at all opposed or intimidated by this outside world.

Finally, it seemed she had found what she was looking for and dragged it out of her bag to hand this something over to Haytham, who plainly stared for just a moment. It was a photo album covered in ugly fluorescent stars with his son's name written in the same fluorescent color onto it. "Ziio has made this when she came back to the village sixteen years ago. Connor had it with him when he had this accident. Only the devil knows why, but I thought you might want to have a look."

Again, instead of taking the bloody thing right away, Haytham just stared in awe, as if he was handed some holy artifact and not just a plain and simple photo album, but then he grabbed it carefully but did not open it. This was something he would look at in private – if he would look at it at all. "Do you know what happened?"

The old woman shook her head. "Maybe he just slipped and fell. He was found at the bottom of a small creek. He underestimated the power of this blizzard as it seems, but why he was out there in the middle of the night in the first place I do not know. His uncle Teiowí:sonte told me he had seen Connor running out of the house and called after him, but that the kid did not react. Apparently, he had thought Connor was on the way to his mother's house, where he surely ended up to grab the album." Then she gestured towards the album and a small smile ghosted for a split second over her wrinkly face. "If you want to know how to pronounce his name, look inside." And then she was gone as fast as her smile had vanished from her face leaving him behind with that album and the beep-beep-beeping of the machines.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6256612/chapters/14336149
> 
> New Story folks! This is a sidestory to second chances. Maybe You will like it too

When Haytham came back to his son's room he paused in the doorway and only stared for a moment to take in the image that was unfolding in front of his eyes, like he was seeing an unspeakable crime being committed right in front of him. "Father, would you please not braid my son's hair?" He found himself asking while his brain was still processing the information of what he saw.

It was late, the sun was slowly sinking on the horizon and snow was still pouring from the sky like it meant nothing. Maybe that was it, the end of the world, a new ice age destroying humanity once and for all so that earth could regenerate itself. Well, maybe this would not be the worst thing that could happen, he guessed. Maybe that was exactly what earth so desperately needed. A renewal, a new beginning. And yet all this was not as important to Haytham E. Kenway as the fact that his elderly father sat beside his grandson on the visitor's chair and braided Connor's long dark hair. The old pirate looked at him puzzled, a hair tie between his lips, ready to be tied into Connor's hair fully equipped with his grandfather's love and spit.

"Why should I?" He mumbled, the tie dangling between his lips now, jolting up and down while he spoke. "It's so long and always in the way for the nurses. I doubt he would mind after all his people do this, don’t they? I saw men wearing their hair like this in his tribe."

"You were there once." Haytham reminded his father with raised brows as he stepped into the room.

"Twice."

"Doesn’t matter. Don’t braid my son's hair."

"Sorry mate, already done and _done!_ " His father then grinned as he tied the hair band into Connor's mane so that his braid would not loosen up again. Why his father even know how to braid a braid like this, he did not know. Haytham only sighed and closed the door behind him, before he walked towards the second chair a nurse had brought them during the day to slump down.

"So what's that?" Edward then asked gesturing towards the album resting on Connor's nightstand.

"Photo album." As if that would not be obvious, but Haytham refused to say more about the bloody album.

"Did you look inside?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because… Well, what would it matter? I was not there! Of course, I can look at those pictures to get a sense of how Connor was when he was little, but what's the purpose? I have not been there. I have not experienced all this myself. I'd rather not dwell on things I cannot change anymore." He replied and gave his best to look like a man who did not care about such things, but sadly he knew that his father knew better. He would have really liked to experience all this. He would have really liked to be Connor's father.

"Always so very serious, Hayth." His father then sighed and grabbed for the album, but before he could reach it, Haytham grabbed it hastily and did not even know why. But then the album was in his hands again and Haytham only stared down at the bloody thing as if it had just bitten him.

It was the second day now. The second day since his son was lying in this bed and still, there was nothing that would hint of betterment in his condition. He was still pale, still lying there with those nasty machines around him, still sleeping - or unconscious or whatever. Doctor da Vinci already told them that it might take some time until Connor would wake up again, but to Haytham it was almost like his son had been in this state for at least a few weeks now. Of course, that was only the utter nonsense his brain lately produced. Hormones, he guessed.

"Maybe you should try and be a bit more serious, don’t you think? Your grandson is lying here in a coma after all." He snarled at his father, but as always the old man did not bother to react as anyone else would maybe have reacted.

"He is not lying in a coma, Hayth." He instead corrected his son calmly.

"Then why is he not awake yet?"

"Because things like that sometimes need a bit more time and patience to deal with even for such a young body as his. So why won't you use that time to have a look at this album? There might be a few rather embarrassing photos in there with which you could, later on, blackmail him into submission whenever he does something you don’t agree with." Well, at least that was something his father was an expert on.

"Only because you tried that with me, does not mean I will lower myself to your level, father." Haytham snarled, just when a nurse gently knocked at the door to Connor's room in the very fashion she had done last evening too before she poked her head inside the room. It was an elderly nurse, with gray curls and warm eyes. It appeared she and her younger colleague had grown quite fond of Connor in that short a time. She always made sure that he had it nice and warm when she would come to check on him or check on his medication.

"I'm afraid your time for today is up, Mr. Kenway." The elderly woman smiled at Edward and the old seafarer did his best to appear like a loving grandfather and a true British gentleman, as he nodded in her direction to make clear he understood her and that he would leave. Driving home to Haytham's house during this weather would be absolutely idiotic, that was why his father had booked a hotel room near the hospital, so that Haytham too would have a place to retreat to, to shower maybe – or do whatever. Up until now, Haytham had not left his son's side for longer than it would need to grab a cup of tea or coffee from the cafeteria.

"Look at the album." His father sighed again as he finally stood up from the chair, not without brushing his thumb gently over Connor's left cheek, though. "You know, he looks just like you when he sleeps. Look at him, all peaceful and small. I'm sure he will tower over all of us one day."

Haytham just rolled his eyes at the comment of Connor looking like him. "Would you mind calling Shay to ask how Liam is?" Haytham at least asked before his father would indeed leave them. Of course, Haytham was allowed to stay. He was Connor's father after all - plus, everyone in their right mind would know that he would not simply _leave_ his kid behind and no one seemed dumb enough to argue with him about that too.

Again his father shortly nodded and then left, however not without pointing at the album again.

It was already late, when Haytham entered the room of his son once more, after having gone to the toilet before he would lie down on the small uncomfortable cot the nurses had installed for him so he could sleep in his son's room. Already his back was aching in agony after the last night he had spent lying on it. Apparently, this was indeed a common thing for parents on the children's medical unit to do. He would have never imagined something like that. He really thought he was the only mad father who would ask for something like that. Apparently, this kind of madness was normal.

It was almost pitch black inside the room after he had turned off the lights and lay down on the bed. They even got him a small lamp next to his makeshift bed so he could read if he wanted to and normally he would want to, but he could not focus on really anything as of late. Of course, he could not stay here forever. He would need to go back to the company soon, but he could not bring himself to really contemplate work. Only briefly he had talked to Shay on the phone this morning and of course, the Irishman had secured him of his capability in handling most things himself, with his sister Jenny as backup if he would face troubles. His father too would tomorrow visit the company to look after the business. Under different circumstances, Haytham would absolutely hate it when his father would interfere with his business, but now he did not mind and he was oh so very glad that Shay showed sympathy for his absence from work. Charles would have never understood. Well, now was certainly not the time to think about Charles. He had left the company seemingly without making a fuss for all Haytham had heard of it, though of course, Haytham had already sent him an agreement, that he would grant him a compensation for the loss of office. Spending money normally did not hurt him, but now it felt wrong, giving the man who had destroyed his life like this so much money only to get rid of him legally.

He was not sure if Charles would have tried to sue him if he would not have sent him this letter in the first place, but surely he did not want to provoke it either, for then Charles maybe would have been granted even more money and that he would not have. Now that Charles had agreed to the indemnity, he could no longer sue him or the company and maybe they would just go their different paths and never see each other ever again. This would be the civil way to do at least, for the next time he would see Charles, the man would not escape his wrath and get away with something as banal as a broken nose.

It hurt still.

Charles had been his best friend. He would have been his best man if he would have ever had the chance of marrying Ziio. He would have been Connor's guardian maybe even. How weird, thinking about how differently everything could have been, if not for Charles's egoism and jealousy about a woman and her unborn child.

He closed his eyes and opened them again only to notice the stupid photo album lying on Connor's nightstand, the stars it was covered in, shimmering pale in the darkness of the room. Typical Ziio. As if she would have known he would someday be in a situation such as this one and maybe needed to be nagged a bit. "Alright, Ziio." He sighed as he got up from his cot again. "You've won."

He hesitated for just one moment, after he grabbed the album and sat down on the cot again before he switched on his little lamp and got a bit more comfortable on the cot. He felt ridiculous, skimming through an album full of pictures of his little son like a man in some bullshit movie, filled to the brim with woefulness and nostalgia for things he had missed and was not able to ever get back. Regret for his missed opportunities and the dreams he had already put to rest before Connor turned up at his doorstep.

Beautiful, sweet Connor.

Maybe he was just getting old and sentimental. At last, he leaned back in his pillows and then opened the album. For the first two minutes, he simply stared at Ziio's handwriting right on the first page. She always had the messiest handwriting Haytham had ever seen, regardless of gender. Her handwriting looked like that of an eleven-year-old boy, always changing between bold letters and calligraphy. He had always liked to humor her about this, but now he simply stared, having not seen this in sixteen, well actually almost seventeen, years. The only thing she had written was the name of her child and his birth date and underneath she had glued the very first picture of the newborn baby Connor, lying in a little hospital cradle with a small light blue hat on his head, looking as tiny as a walnut. He had been tiny for a newborn, Haytham was sure of that. Tinier than most newborns he would suspect, fast asleep in his little nest. Maybe he lingered a little bit longer than he would normally do, before he turned the page only to really find an instruction of how to pronounce the boy's name (even in phonetic spelling as if to mock him in the future), then he turned another page and another. Ziio had even glued Connor's ultrasound pictures into the book and several photos of herself and her growing belly, documenting this journey from the first ultrasound to the day Connor had been born apparently. It seemed she had enjoyed her pregnancy and Haytham felt her wild spirit right through those photos, still as lively as if she would be right here with him, telling him in joy about their son kicking and keeping her awake.

He found himself chuckling over some of the pictures of his son, snoring peacefully at the age of four in front of the fireplace, flat on the ground, his nose in the carpet; painting the kitchen walls with his fingertips at the age of three; running around near the lake at the age of ten; climbing trees; dressed up as a pirate for Halloween (oh what irony!); him standing outside his school on his first day looking all flustered and nervous with pink cheeks and red ears… He had been such a cute kid, all chubby and tiny. He had been a passionate artist with his coloring books apparently for there were numerous photos of him lying around or sitting around with his coloring book and his crayons. There were various pictures of him with his plush wolf too. The plush wolf. He totally forgot about it. He would drive to the village tomorrow to get it.

How could he have forgotten about the bloody thing? The plush wolf was in nearly every photo from the time when Connor was still a toddler going on his little adventures. He could almost hear him blabbering about the crusades he was about to go on when he had left his mother's house on tiny, chubby legs with his pacifier still in his mouth. Haytham surely was not a person overly fond of children and he was for certain no one to coo over kids or make grimaces at them in a restaurant. He simply did not care for children and he never understood what it was that was so special about fat babies for other people, _but:_ Connor had been adorable.

And now knowing that he had missed all this was only making him angrier. Angry at Charles, angry at Ziio, angry at himself, angry at the world. He threw the album at the end of his cot. Hell, he was behaving like the biggest idiot there ever was! When the album hit the mattress something else fell out of the book and floated softly to the ground. To Haytham's surprise it was no photo that fell to the ground, but an envelope.

"Bloody hell…" He scoffed as he reached down to grab the envelope, thinking not much of it in the first place. Surely, Ziio had only stored some smaller photos in this one which she never glued to the pages of the book, but then, after he grabbed the envelope and turned it, to his surprise, he saw his own name written on it. There it was in Ziio's awful, messy handwriting. His name, but no address. Only his own bloody name on a plain white envelope and yet suddenly Haytham felt as if he was holding the Holy Grail in his hands.

He sat up straighter and held the envelope with both his hands, wondering what he might uncover when he would open the envelope. Maybe there was nothing in there at all, but after he opened it, he could see the sheets of paper, neatly folded into the envelope and closed it again. He knew what this was and what he would read on those pages and though a part of him still yearned for the truth, he could not bring himself to read it. Instead, he put the envelope back into the album and shut off the lamp.

When Haytham found himself driving through a world of snow the next day, he thought of the letter again, but still, he held true to his decision of not reading it. What would it help anyway? Surely in the letter, he would only find trials of explanations or excuses. What good would this do now? It could not be helped and his son - their son - still had not awakened yet.

\---------

Charles hated hospitals, mainly because of all those other (sick) people there. He was a quite cleanly guy and every time he was forced to set foot in a hospital, he immediately felt as if all those nasty germs would fly right at him to infest him with infection and disease to guide him to an early grave. Sadly, he had no other choice than to come here once again this very day. Of course, now he had a lot more free time than he had had before and yet he was pent up and felt as if he needed to hurry up to get to another appointment and every time he realized that he did not, the feeling of rage came crashing back on him immediately.

If it were not for that fucking imbecile he would still have his position in the company. Yet it was not his position or the income he was angry to have lost, money he had more than enough and a new position such as this one he would easily find again - no, it was the simple fact that Haytham Kenway had turned on him after years and years of their fruitful partnership and friendship! To not a single person Charles had ever been closer in his life and Haytham had trusted him of all people the most! Him! Only to throw it away for some native brat coming along and shouldering his way into Haytham's life by the claim of being his son! Should their friendship not matter more? Should _he_ not matter more? Apparently, he was just as exchangeable as everyone else for the great Haytham Kenway.

Of course, everyone knowing Haytham and Ziio had known right from the start that they would have never worked out as a couple. Of course, everyone had seen that they were bound to fail from the start, too different their paths and lives had been - not even to mention that Haytham was in a whole other league than this pathetic little woman and all her ilk. They were living in the dirt like animals, even now, even when the world had moved forward, they still clung to their ways desperately to move along with the cause of the world.

To him, it was an enigma how in the world a man like Haytham would ever be able to fall in love with such a person. Maybe he would never be able to comprehend how something like that was even remotely possible. But oh the folly of a lonely man knows no boundaries he guessed and lonely Haytham had been as he first came to this would be nation - not that he would have let anyone notice it in earnest. Except for Charles. Yes, he had known.

As Charles moved to the front desk of the reception where the nurses were idly chatting the day away, he wished to be done with this nonsense already. "Is he still unconscious?" One of the nurses asked her colleague, as she leaned closer to her, right after she sat down on the chair again.

"I'm afraid he is." Her colleague, an elderly woman with gray curls replied with a worried sigh only a mother could produce. "Poor thing. Such a cute boy, really. No mother, I suppose, only his father staying with him. Such devotion." She sighed again. "I've seen many men and many fathers in my life, but let me tell you, such devotion I hardly ever saw."

"I think I saw him leave earlier this day." Her younger colleague replied again, straightening her spine a bit as Charles came closer, but before she would even grant him attention, she looked at her colleague again.

"Mr. Kenway? Yes. He said he would be back in a few hours." Then with a hum, she glanced at her wristwatch. "Well, maybe he will be back after lunch. I should go and give the kid his meds before he comes back. Always making a fuss when I come even close to his son with a needle, that one." She then snickered and got up, while Charles tried his very best to look as if he had not at all eavesdropped at their conversation - not that he would have had any other choice of course.

It would be a lie to say he had not found joy in the news of Connor's accident and of course by now he knew all about it. Well, he had been there when Haytham's father stormed into the office after all, wasn’t he? What a shame that kid was not yet awake again. After the older nurse left, the younger one finally looked at him. "Oh, Mr. Lee!" She greeted him with a smile and though he was a bit flabbergasted that she remembered him of all the people coming and going, he blamed her good taste in men for this, though he was certainly not as vain as some of his other friends - such as poor John Pitcairn. "Are you here for your strings to be pulled?"

"Yes." He answered a bit more nasal than usually thanks to Haytham's emotional outburst. Of course, he could have sued him, but sometimes it was best to keep a low profile.

"Dr. da Vinci is running a bit late today, I'm afraid. There was an emergency patient- Italian, not speaking a single word of English so he had to go see them. Would you mind to wait a few moments? I think he will not be gone for long."

Of course, he would mind. He had made an appointment after all! Typical for those foreigners! With a British doctor, something like this would not have happened. Yet he nodded. "Not at all." He already turned around to go, as he stopped himself and looked at her again. "I'm sorry, Miss, but I couldn’t help but overhearing your conversation before. Did you say Mr. Kenway was here? You see, he is a very dear friend of mine."

She looked at him in surprise and when her cheeks turned pink he knew he had her. "Oh! What a coincidence!" She replied. "No, not Mr. Kenway himself - Well, actually yes. It's his son, Connor Kenway. He arrived three days ago during the blizzard. Poor kid, still unconscious."

He was surely not the best actor, but for this silly thing, it would suffice clearly, as he stepped closer, his face worried and shocked at the news. "What? I didn’t know! Well, I haven't seen Haytham for a few days now… How is the boy? What happened?"

"Well, we don’t know, Mr. Lee! No one does. Apparently, he fell somewhere in the woods, fractured his skull, broke a few bones... He had been found lying at the bottom of a narrow ravine, you see - well or something like that, I don’t know the details of course. He was in critical condition when he got here and though his injuries are making progress, he has still not opened his eyes. Dr. da Vinci, of course, says that this I nothing too troublesome after injuries like that, but- Oh! _Mr. Lee!"_ Now she sounded a bit accusatory. "I shouldn’t have told you that. I'm sorry, but surely you understand that I cannot-"

"Don’t worry, my dear. I already forgot everything you just said. It's alright. But, is it may be possible to have a look at the boy after I'm already here and have to wait anyway? You see his father is my closest friend, and little Connor means much to me. I'm something like his guardian and now hearing of his conditions troubles me greatly." Her cheeks turned even pinker.

"Well, I think under these circumstances I could make an exception, Mr. Lee. It's room number 504, fifth floor – the children's medical unit of course - to the left-hand side of the elevator."

\---------

Once again Haytham came back to the village, once again he had left his car where the motorway had ended on the small pebble stone parking lot someone had installed years ago by the forest and once again he had hiked down to the village through thick and heavy snow and ice covered trees. Who would have thought he would come to this place so often now? He certainly had not, but today he would not take _no_ for an answer. Today he was here with a mission to accomplish and that he would. He would not leave without having done what was right for his son! If Connor could not have his puppy by his side, he would get him his plush, trusting that Shay was taking good care of Liam until Connor would be up for the task again. Only this morning Shay had sent him a message and a picture, telling him how Liam had decided to destroy his favorite pillow and then peed on the stuffing. The picture had been of Liam lying flat on the sofa within the mess he had made looking all innocent and confused. Shay had not seemed very bothered by the mess, though. Well then again, Shay was not like Charles. Charles would have already had at least one heart attack because of the baby wolf's behavior and surely Liam would have roughed up those awful Pomeranians. Maybe that was just Liam's way of communicating his anger or worry about the situation.

Shortly he stopped in front of the gates, but then he straightened his spine, set his jaw and held his chin high as he stepped right through the gates.

It was eerily quiet inside the village and for a moment Haytham felt as if hundreds of eyes were resting upon him while he slowly walked further into the center of the village. It was like in those odd trash horror movies, in which a stranger would enter a village on which a curse lasted and every villager watched the newcomer with preying eyes - all except for this one beautiful woman which then, by the end of the movie, turned out to be the leader of some satanic cult. He blamed Connor for this association. After all, it was this insolent boy who had once forced him to watch such movies.

But there were no creepy one-eyed old men staring at him or chanting cursed or cryptic warnings at him, no pale, fair-headed little girls singing a nursery rhyme in the distance. There was only silence and the occasional noise coming from the various houses standing so close to each other that some of them had washing lines taut between them - of course without items of laundry, for the current climate. There was the occasional sharp clattering of metal pots and pans, of mothers calling for their children, of children screeching within their homes and music blaring muffled through closed windows of the rooms inhabited by moody teenagers.

He remembered the times when he had been here with Ziio and though it had not been that often, he still knew where her house was and where her brother's house was too, so he marched on, slowly bridging the gap between the gate and the now frozen lake. This village really had something beautiful to it for sure. Maybe it was this feeling of moving through a place almost untouched by modern civilization, though here too the people had everything the people in the cities had, only that they were living surrounded by nature. Charles once said that he found this to be quite hypocritical and maybe he was even right about it. Well, it was certainly not Haytham's business to judge.

When he reached the door of Teiowí:sonte's house, he only spared a short glance at Ziio's old place. It still looked like he remembered it; the only difference was that she had added another story, surely because of Connor. He could almost see her doing all the work by herself, even while pregnant for Ziio was a woman never accepting the help of anybody. He wondered what it might have been like if they would have done that together, building their nest like this, arguing about the wallpaper they would put up in Connor's room or the way they wanted to decorate their bedroom. Oh, surely, they would have argued a lot about every little detail and he was sure that their fights would have started already by the choice if they wanted to know their child's gender (which Haytham most certainly would have liked to know so they could plan ahead, while Ziio would have wanted it to be a surprise, because she hated planning ahead).

When the door of Teiowí:sonte's house was opened it ripped him right out of his little dreams and fantasies about Ziio's laughter as she would have smeared paint all over his face as a revenge for him being such an uncomfortable square. He was staring right into the large brown eyes of a young man, not older than sixteen or seventeen, looking up to him and knew immediately that this must be his son's cousin Kanen- _something_. The boy seemed just as surprised as he was and seemingly on his way out, with a thick down jacket (which made him look all the more _round_ then his full cheeks did anyway) and thick winter boots already equipped.

"Hello" Haytham greeted the boy with a tilt of his head. "You must be … Kanen'tó:kon." Well, he was quite proud of the way he had managed to pronounce that unspeakable name though it was hardly as worse as his own son's name. But before the boy could answer there was a woman's voice shouting from inside the house.

"Kanen'tó:kon don’t forget your hat, dear!" It appears this kind of motherly attention was universal all over the world and all over the different cultures.

"Ista! There's a man here!" At least the boy found his tongue again and like this, only a second later the figure of a quite round and plump woman appeared in the hallway behind Kanen'tó:kon, seemingly coming from the kitchen, a dishtowel still hanging loosely over her left shoulder as she stepped closer, eying him up. She was certainly not ugly, but she was more of a wallflower type, unlike Ziio. There was not the same sharpness to her face or her eyes as Ziio had possessed, not the same grace or elegance to her movements.

"Hello, Sir." She greeted Haytham slowly and nodded at her son, before Kanen'tó:kon grabbed his hat and shouldered his way past Haytham. Of course, he was not invited in, but the woman stepped closer while her son was already running off, not caring how impolite he was behaving towards Haytham. "You must be Ratonhnhaké:ton's father, am I right?"

"Haytham Kenway." He introduced himself. "I don’t think we've met before."

"No, I don’t believe we have. I'm Una, I'm Teiowí:sonte's wife." She introduced herself with a smile though Haytham was not quite sure what to make of this smile even. From everything he had heard about this woman in the past, she was not so very different from her husband or really anyone in this village. "I believe you came here to gather up some of Ratonhnhaké:ton's – _Connor's_ – belongings, right?"

"Yes." She stepped aside to let him in as he cleared his throat a bit. "Thank you." The house was not at all what he had expected. It was much more modern than its façade would suggest, but it was warm and cozy and that was a most welcome change to Haytham after hiking through the snowy forest. "I'm sorry to ask" He started up again as the woman gestured towards the staircase. "But do you know anything about what had happened? I mean _how_ it happened?"

Her face clearly told him how uncomfortable she felt all of the sudden, but then she shook her head softly and her black hair was dancing around her plump face. Like every Mohawk woman he had met up until now, she wore her hair long and in a thick braid with the exception for a few shorter strands of her always coming lose. "No, I'm afraid I don’t." She replied as she led him up the stairs and then straight into a room that clearly looked like the guest bedroom, but Connor's plush wolf sitting on his pillow was the first thing Haytham noticed. "When he came back to us, I couldn’t believe he still had this thing." His aunt chuckled as she pointed to the wolf. "When he was a toddler he had always dragged the thing around with him. Kaniehtí:io had had to repair that thing at least a million times for he would never let it be thrown away or replaced. "

Haytham could not help but smirk a bit. "I was the same when I was a child, or so my father told me. Apparently, I had a teddy I wouldn’t even let go of so it could be washed." What a weird thing to say to a stranger. What a weird thing for him to remember all of the sudden. "That’s what I'm here for actually. I thought he might like to have it."

"Oh yes, surely!" Connor's aunt hurried to the bed and grabbed the plush before handing it over to Haytham. "He is still unconscious, I've heard."

He did not even question from whom she had heard this, instead, he nodded and watched her sitting down on the bed heavily. She might not be very fond of his son, but she clearly was a mother and worried for any child under such circumstances. "You see, I believe he heard us argue – me and my husband. I tried to talk sense into Teiowí:sonte, so he might abandon his plan of pressing all this money out of you. I told him that I thought that this was not right, but Teiowí:sonte … he is so stubborn. Just like his sister was. We heard him and Liam leave the house right after he told me that he was planning on keeping him here, but Teiowí:sonte refused to follow him when he saw him running towards the forest shortly after. He was in his mother's house prior to his escape from the village it appears. The sideboard in her living room was ripped open, as I later went in there."

She might have been able to find Connor earlier than those men had. That was the first thing that popped into his mind. His uncle could have even prevented Connor from getting hurt like that! But he did not say anything. It would not help. Accusations never helped anyone. All they did was making matters worse.

"I wondered if you might like to see his room."

Being back in Ziio's old house was weird, but it did not feel as otherworldly as he had thought. The house felt lifeless and empty without Ziio in it, but still, he could see and sense her in every little detail, be it in the woolen blanket she had once casually thrown over the backrest of the sofa or the lovely (but messily) arranged picture frames on the mantelpiece. He did not spend much time taking in everything, instead, he followed Connor's aunt up the creaking wooden stairs. Ziio's home was a stark contrast to the house of her brother. Of course, she had not forgone without modern equipment and yet her house looked much more like he would have imagined it to be. Connor's old room was at the end of the hallway, right beside his mother's room apparently and though he felt tempted, he did not look in Ziio's old room. Dwelling on the past did not help him now and he had already wasted more than enough time. He needed to go back to Connor. He could not risk that the boy would wake up and he was not there. Surely he would panic because of the tube.

For a moment he paused when Connor's aunt opened the door to his room. There was a poster on the door facing the hallway. Some poster of a movie he had never even heard of. Well, he had already learned that his son really liked movies. He had expected his son's room to be messier than it actually was. There were a few more posters of various movies hanging on the walls and against Haytham's love for symmetry they were all hanging crookedly. Well, he would never forbid Connor to hang posters or pictures – only he needed to do it properly and maybe Haytham would even be able to show his son the benefits in coolness if he would put his posters into neat picture frames instead of taping them to the walls.

His son seemed to be quite cleanly for a teenage boy, though. Only one lost black sock was lying on the floor next to his clothes hamper standing by his closet, therefore he could see the sleeve of a shirt hanging out of said clothes hamper. His room was quite plain and simple, the walls painted in a soft shade of crème or beige, his floor of grayish wooden panels as the rest of the house. His bed was full wood too and looked as if he and Ziio had built it themselves after Connor had outgrown his kid's bed surely. The most prominent thing in the room though was the giant dreamcatcher someone (Ziio for sure) had constructed for the boy and which was now hanging on the wall by the head of the bed. That was typical for Ziio and he was sure that it was hanging there since the day Connor was born.

"If you wouldn’t mind I would like to-"

"Take everything you want." Una smiled and walked to the bed only to grab the thick woolen blanket covering the bed and folding it neatly before he handed it over to him. "I think he would like this blanket in the hospital too. He has this one since he was a child, maybe it could brighten up the hospital room a bit." The blanket surely fitted Connor. It was light blue for the biggest part of it, but at one end covered in brown, black and white tribal motives (geometrical – _that_ Haytham liked) and all around covered in soft beige fringes, perfect for Liam to play with. It was soft and warm when Una gave it to him.

"Is there more he would like?" It had taken a moment for him to find his voice again. All of the sudden he felt overwhelmed standing in Connor's room and seeing it or the first time ever, taking in everything this room could tell him about his son's personality after the room he had in Haytham's house was so … was still a guest room. He must have felt lonely in there. And suddenly Haytham wanted to sit down on his bed, while his eyes were roaming over the desk by the window and the pile of comics lying on a shelf, but when he would give into that urge he would surely not be able to get up anytime soon again.

When Una spoke up again, it was a most welcome excuse for Haytham to stop thinking altogether. "Oh surely. Maybe I could pack a few things and sent it to you? I bet you want to go back to your son."

\---------

The children's unit was noisy. Never in his life would Charles have thought he would be in a place like this, for he himself had never been interested in having children at all of course. And even if he would have married and fathered children, surely he would never be one of those fathers roaming these halls. Room 504 was right ahead so he walked on a bit quicker, while genuinely trying to avoid drawing attention. He was normally no person who would just follow his guts. He would usually never do anything without good reasoning behind his actions or at least without having thought all of it through, but this time … Well, somehow something was pulling him to this room. Maybe it was just this sadistic little voice in his head, that wanted to see Connor in this room and rejoice over his bad condition.

It was weird to him that he was allowed to run around like this on the children's unit, but apparently, the staff was too busy to care, so he slipped right into the room after he had made sure that no one was in there, peeking through the little window. The sign next to the door read _Connor Kenway_ and that alone caused him to clench his fists. It appears the old nurse had already finished her business again after she had told her younger colleague she would come here to give the boy his medication before. Charles closed the door quietly behind him before he turned and looked at the kid lying on the bed. Connor was pale as the snow outside and though he might look frail and precious to other people, Charles could only feel the hot fires of resentment burning in his intestines, eating him up, driving him insane.

Connor was hooked up to several machines apparently, a heart monitor watching over his heart rate, slowly, but steadily beeping away the child's life, another machine taking over his respiratory system as it seemed. To Charles, it was not quite clear if the boy could not breathe on his own and frankly, he did not care either. But if this was the case then … oh, how easy it would be to release him from this burden.

"Well Connor, it seems he who laughs last laughs longest." Charles murmured quietly as he moved closer to the bed. Never would he have thought he would ever hate someone as much as he hated that child. _Connor Kenway_! What an iniquity! Never could he have even imagined something so vile as this hatred brewing inside him! But Connor's existence hung over him like a shadow for the last sixteen years and maybe it was time to get rid of that shadow once and for all.


	18. Chapter 18

As Haytham arrived back at the hospital it had just started to snow again outside as if to underline that it was indeed still only January and that the New Year had just started and now tried to paint the world white, as if to start all over again on a blank canvas. Well, as if that would help as long as there was humankind to make everything ugly all over again. Glad to be back here and out of the cold of the woods he paused for a second in the lobby and took in a deep breath. He was packed with Connor's various belongings from his old room in his mother's home in the village. Una had given him a whole backpack stuffed with comics, a few clothes and of course the blanket she had grabbed from Connor's bed. But when the nurses at the reception noticed him, the younger of the two snickered a bit by the sight of the plush wolf in his arm. Haytham however only cocked an eyebrow at her reaction and came closer, his chin held high and his whole demeanor that of the fine British gentleman he was. Plush wolf in his arms or not.

"Oh Mr. Kenway, there you are! Perfectly in time for lunch!" The young woman chirped like a turtledove, fluttering her lashes like the wings of a butterfly, as her blue eyes shot up at his. His father had already remarked that this _girl_ seemed to be quite fond of the overly worried father (though Haytham would always deny that he was overly worried or behaving overly worried) and up until now, Haytham had not quite understood what he meant. Now he got it. "If you're quick you might catch your friend still before Dr. da Vinci grabs him."

"My friend?" He asked not even caring to mention his distaste for the hospital food. He had only eaten the hospital meal once, that was on the first day when he had not known any better and since then he relied on the Kenway delivery service – which was his father bringing him good Italian food from a good restaurant nearby. Even Mrs. Taylor had already brought him something to eat by now because she had wanted to have a look at Connor, which had ended in a three-hour visit of the woman cooing over the poor boy.

"Yes, your friend!" The girl replied with rosy cheeks and clearly a bit excited for whatever inane reason there was. "Mr. Lee! He came here to get his threats pulled today by Dr. da Vinci, but since the doctor is running late today I told him he needed to wait. Apparently, he heard me and my colleague talk about your son and he explained to me that he is your closest friend and that he worries greatly for Connor, so I told him he could see him in the meantime. He is up with your son-"

But Haytham was already running for the elevators. He did not want to know why the bloody hell Charles was in this hospital or that he might have a darn good reason to be here. He was with Connor. That news alone sufficed for Haytham to feel his blood boil like lava trough his veins. Thousands and thousands of possible scenarios were flashing through his mind while he desperately waited for the elevator to arrive and when it finally did Haytham burst right into it, not bothering for the people still inside as he frantically pressed the button for the fifth floor. He did not care for the annoyed murmurs behind him, as the doors closed again and forced the other passenger to come along again and when the doors finally opened on the fifth floor he squeezed through the opening doors, which was exceptionally harder with the backpack and the plush. He almost dropped the things to be faster, but then again he tried to force himself to be calm, to level and slow his steps just a bit. He could not go on a rampage like this like a fucking hick only because someone was alone with Connor who clearly should not be alone with Connor!

He tried to force himself to act like the British gentleman he was once more, tried to walk slower and with more elegance, but the hick inside him took over every time he tried to. Charles Lee was with his son. That was everything his brain could scream at his feet right now and his feet reacted in the way they knew best – they ran. He did not care if he might be overreacting or that he was judging Charles maybe too early. Of course, he did not know what Charles's intention was and though a part of him would really like to think that Charles might feel real remorse and wanted to atone for his hideous sins, the voice of reason in Haytham's mind knew better. Charles Lee never showed any kind of remorse for his actions. He never did. He absolutely hated Connor and now he was with the kid. _Alone_.

Just like Pitcairn had been alone with Connor. Alone to humiliate his son. Alone to beat his son bloody. Alone to molest him. Alone to scare him into running away. And he remembered the evening Connor came home and told him later that Pitcairn had caned him. Back then he had not understood, maybe had not wanted to understand. He had not wanted to think of one of his friend's like this, had not wanted to notice what a vile creature this friend of his really was. Instead, he had laughed! He had laughed in his son's face as he had told him that his teacher had beaten him! He should have protected him, he should have immediately forced Connor to go to the police with him! He should have done _something_! He did not! He had let this happen before. He had allowed Pitcairn to torture his only child and had not believed Connor because he thought his boy was overreacting. He had not been a good father to the child he so desperately had wanted when he had been with Ziio. He still was a shitty father apparently. He had left Connor alone again. Helpless even!

As he saw the door of his son's room he finally let go of the plush in his arms and the backpack hanging over his shoulder. His heart was suddenly racing so hard in his chest it almost hurt him and he felt the panic rising like bile in his throat worse than ever before, surging through his body like a wave of cold water. Worse even than during the drive to the hospital three days ago. He knew that something was wrong and as he ripped open the door he heard the shrill constant beep of the machine that had just been shut off. There was again the voice of reasoning in his head screaming at him to switch on the machine again, that was helping his son to breathe, but when he saw Charles staring at him wide eyed and in surprise of his sudden arrival he only saw red.

\-------------

He felt as if he was suffocating. Something was not at all right. He could not breathe and something was stuck in his throat. Connor tried to gasp for breath like a fish on land, but he couldn’t. He could not even move his mouth! When he opened his eyes his world was filled with snow again for a moment and then the chaos came crashing back down on him again. His eyes were burning and he felt hot tears trickle down the sides of his cheek while he was slowly suffocating and could not help himself for he could not move or even figure out what was wrong. His heart was racing within the suddenly very tight confinements of his ribcage and he started to feel dizzy. But there was also noise around him, people yelling, metal clattering and then suddenly oxygen filling his lungs just when he was about to black out again. Connor drank up the saving gas, but the dizziness remained and filled his head like toxic smock. He was unable to understand what was going on, nor was he able to process the information he got from the face of a woman leaning over him when he opened his eyes the next time, still blinking slowly - oh so very slowly.

Somehow the chaos around him started to blur a bit more again and then it came back into focus again, like radio static during a snowstorm and he was still trying to find a station to finally get the information he needed. There was a lot of yelling involved in the chaos, that much he could already figure out, but his body was still convulsing and he still felt like choking, no matter that he felt the air filling his lungs - somehow. Finally, he was able to move his fingers again and he tried to grab for his face, his body twitching on its own, eluding his control, but soft hands caught his and stopped him. It was the woman again, but her face was blurred and faded in front of his eyes like a painting, painted with oil paint, slowly melting in the heat of flames. He heard a low hum and guessed that this must be the woman talking, but he could not understand and his eyes darted from her face to the white snow above him and then again to her, for he could not really move his head that well. Then there was another person, carefully grabbing his face, but he almost did not really feel the touch at all. It was as if his skin was rubber and then he blinked again slowly and his world faded to black for a moment until something tugged on his intestines and then his airway was ripped out of him and he could finally breathe again. In the same instant that he was being ripped apart, he took an instinctive gasp of breath like a fish being pulled out from his pond. He thought briefly about all the times he had gone fishing with Kanen'tó:kon by the river and suddenly he felt sorry for all the fish he had caught like that so his mother could cook them for dinner.

He started coughing immediately as the tube or whatever it was, was pulled out of him, but the world continued to be a chaotic mesh of white and voices and smells and - suddenly there was yet another face right above his and bright blue shining down on him. He felt like vomiting, he felt sick and he had no clue what was going on, where he was or what had happened for him to be in this nightmare. His heart was still pounding hard against his ribs as if it wanted to break them apart and break free from its confinement's once and for all. Another voice hummed something right next to him - on his left and then another deep voice came from everywhere around him, but maybe it was all just in his head. "Connor?"

\-------

When Haytham attacked Charles this time, his intention was not to hurt him, it was not to break his nose again or to punch out his teeth. His intention, this time, was murder. For this brief moment in time, as he found Charles leaning over his son, watching him suffocate after he had switched off his respiratory system, murder seemed to be the only logical conclusion to his problems and he was even sure that his father would agree on that with him for once. He was sure every parent would agree on that with him.

What mother would not try to instantly kill a man who wanted to kill their child? What father would let the man escape who had just switched off a machine his child’s life was depending on? Maybe he knew not enough about those kinds of machines or what they were used for, but he was god darn sure that switching off this machine meant death for his boy and yet instead of fixing this problem he rather threw himself at Charles, because he already heard the nurses storming the room - but he had not heard them beforehand, when he decided on smashing the man he had once called his friend into the closet so that the thin plywood doors broke under the impact and the man fell right into the closet. The few metal hangers in it were shaking and dancing and the white robe reserved for the patients fell right onto Charles. Under different circumstances, this might be a bit comedic, but certainly not now, as his brains shut off and allowed his body to turn berserk on this joke of a man, this waste of human life. "You will never touch my son again, you hear me you worthless piece of shit, Charles?" Haytham yelled and for the first time in his life, he did not care who might hear him or what any other person might think about him or the situation.

He did not care if he was suddenly perceived differently by the staff raiding the room or if they thought him to be nothing more than an anger driven redneck. Never in his life had he felt angrier, more viciously angry as in this moment as he grabbed Charles by the collar of his coat to bring their faces closer together, snarling into the man’s bloody face. It seemed Dr. da Vinci could just go and fix his nose again, for Haytham had just destroyed his work. He knew he must look like a bull on steroids, snarling with foam in front of his mouth like a rabid dog at his former friend and if it was not for the nurses trying to get him off Charles, he might have really killed him. And he would not even have felt remorse. Never would he feel remorse for killing such a vile creature.

"If I will ever see you again or if I ever hear that you are near my son in any way, I will rip your throat out and feed it to your fucking little slimy dogs. You hear me, Charles? I kill you the next time I see you." He then growled, as he kicked Charles again with a little more force than before and only half heartily noticed the ruckus and chaos around him, though everything started to come back into focus, as soon as one of the alarmed security guards pulled him away with strong arms, muttering curses under his breath, as if _he_ was the culprit in this situation! He did not make a fuss, though he would have loved to throw himself at Charles one more time, but suddenly all he could see and hear was his son, coughing, choking, his eyes wide open though he did not seem to be quite here yet.

And yet, Connor was coughing. He was breathing. His eyes were open. The security guard held him under control as Haytham immediately wanted to run for the bed, his instincts still commanding his body, but this time quite differently than only seconds before. "Sir, you need to calm down!" The large man behind him, still holding him in place, grunted, but Haytham only shot him a look of utter venom.

"Don't restrain _me_!" He spat furiously, little drops of spit shooting through the air and yet he did not care at all. "Restrain _him_! _He_ switched off his respiratory systems as I just walked in! Detain him and call the police! He tried to murder my son!" Yet again he yelled and yet again he could not care less, for now, he really was fighting against that damned security guard, while the blond doctor was still by Connor's side. Nothing seemed important now. Not how the people or the world around him did perceive him for sure, not that he was behaving like a wild beast. Nothing. Only Connor.

And while the doctor and the nurses cooed over Connor, Haytham had no eyes for them or anyone else, only for Connor lying in the bed, writhing under another coughing fit. _Breathing_. _Breathing._ He was breathing and he did not know if it was due to the shock Charles had caused or because it would have happened anyway now. He did not care either. He was awake and he was breathing and when the nurse turned to the security guard to tell him "Let him go, that’s the boy’s father.", he finally was let loose again. A part of him really would have liked to kick Charles in the face as he was being helped to his feet again with a moan and a grunt, but instead he made a run for the bed so he could lean over Connor, watching him blinking slowly, drowsily and he wished he had his plush wolf to give it to him immediately, but the poor thing still laid in the hallway just as the backpack filled with all of Connor’s favorite things.

"Connor?" He gasped leaning closer over him. Their eyes met for about a second before Connor's brown eyes rolled back into his head and fell shut again.

Haytham felt as if he was slowly being driven to the brink of insanity, listening to the _tick-tick-ticking_ of the clock over the door. He was almost positive that the clock was installed over the door for this exact purpose – to drive the person who sat inside the room insane, maybe to get them to confess whatever they might have done that needed confession. He did not want to be here at all right now. He wanted to go back to the hospital where he was supposed to be now. He wanted to be with his son after everything that had happened and yet he sat here in this police station at this dusty old table and waited to be questioned about his attack on Charles. Well, at least that was what he thought he was here for because he simply could not think of any other reason for the police to ask him to come here.

He felt as if he was here for hours now, waiting for the lazy policeman to come back to this room after he had been brought here by some rooky. He knew of course that his son was taken care of, that his father was with Connor after he had called him. Surely the old pirate had dropped everything and rushed to the hospital. And Lee … Well, the Security Guards had not let him go after Haytham had told them what he had witnessed prior to the attack, though of course poor Dr. da Vinci needed to take care of Charles's nose and jaw first before he could be given over to the police. Yet Haytham did not feel any kind of satisfaction right now.

When the door swung open again Haytham tried not to look all too suspicious, when he turned his head just a bit so he was able to look over his shoulder at the person walking in. The man was older than the cops at the front desk and the clothes he wore, the plain white button down shirt, the dark trousers and the black suspenders on which he had fastened his badge made him look not only as if he came straight out of a movie but signalized to Haytham that he was not your normal patrolman. Haytham could read the years the man had lived with crime as the main part of his life in his eyes, as the man slowly closed the door behind him and then walked around his cheap metal desk. He was not a normal patrolman in the big open-plan office where the younger policemen and women sat to write their reports, but he was not at the top of the career yet either. Clearly, he was one of those old cops who had seen many things during their career, so nothing could surprise him now anymore. The slim nameplate on his desk told Haytham who the man in front of him was before Mr. R. Faulkner sat down on his creaking black leather chair to lean back a bit.

Haytham, of course, was not the least intimidated by the stare the man greeted him with while leaning back. His beard was almost completely gray though he seemed not _that_ old to Haytham. Maybe it was the years he spent as a member of the police force who made his beard turn gray, while his hair was still only dusted with the first gray strands. For a moment neither of them said a thing, but then the man sighed and sat up straight again. "You know, Mr. Kenway, in the forty years I have worked in this job, I never experienced a father punching another man in his son's hospital room. _Hilarious,_ I know! But it is the truth. I never experienced someone plainly trying to murder a child by switching off their respiratory system either, though, and I certainly never experienced a father of such a child lunging at the man who did it instead of helping their child."

Guilt bit Haytham right in the arse. Yes, of course, he knew how horribly mislead his actions in the hospital had been. Of course, he was very well aware of the fact that he should have hurried to his son's side to switch the machine back on instead of punching Charles to a bloody pulp. It had been his instincts taking over, his impulses too strong to further suppress. "I doubt I was asked to come here to be lectured." Haytham replied dryly, although his smug fashion might not be the right way to approach this situation, after all, he had committed a crime in punching Charles and of course, he was aware of that fact. Furthermore, he thought about his company and what impact this situation might have in the future. He was a man always worried for his reputation, always eager to appear flawless and without fail for his business partners to trust him and now he was running around attacking people and all of this only because of his son!

Well, no. Not _only because of his son_. Because of his son. That was more than enough good of a reason to Haytham right now and everyone who would not understand clearly had no children of their own. What a weird thing to think for a man like him. He would have laughed if the situation was another and less dire perhaps. He always used to belittle people telling him »How could you understand? You're no parent!«, such as his good friend William Johnson, when he would lament about his children's antics. He never quite understood what William meant with that, for he, the omniscient being Haytham Kenway, would surely get the reasoning behind William's words, nevertheless his friend's opinion. Now he understood that he had never understood Williams's point of view because _now_ he did. _Now_ he did know what it meant being a parent and yet he had no clue apparently. How in the world could he have attacked Charles while Connor was fighting death? How could he have possibly lunged at the man while his son was suffocating and while he could have helped him?

Mr. Faulkner's grimace spoke clearly of the fact that he thought the very same things right in that moment. Of course, Haytham had no clue if the man had children or even grandchildren of his own, but judging that he had a great many picture frames standing on his desk which contents he could not clearly see from his position, he guessed the man had a family. Mr. Faulkner cleared his throat a moment later and then, with a deep sigh spoke up again.

"I thought you might like to hear that we already arrested Mr. Lee for the attempted murder of your son. As of right now, he is undergoing investigation." Haytham did his very best not to snort, for that was surely the least he had expected the police to do in this regard. "You might also like to hear that he has decided not to file a report about your attack on him – again, _Sir_. Furthermore, my men are currently trying to find evidence linking Mr. Lee to the attacks a Sir by the name of Pitcairn committed against your son as well."

"I am indeed quite pleased to hear that." Haytham finally answered after he kept his silence for but a moment just in case there was something else for him to hear, but apparently there wasn’t. "But I'm wondering why I needed to come here to learn about these things. I would much rather be with my son."

"I do understand that Mr. Kenway, but of course I still need your testimony in this case and I've learned it is better to get it straight away when everything is still fresh in the minds of the people involved. We already got the testimonies of Dr. da Vinci and the nurses present at the scene." Mr. Faulkner clearly was a man who would not take no for an answer in this case and though everything inside Haytham screamed for getting back to the hospital as soon as possible, he obeyed. _Better get it over with._

It was already getting dark outside, when Haytham arrived back at the hospital, though granted that it got dark pretty early during this time of the year. Still, it felt as if he had been away for days and only because Mr. Faulkner had been pestering him for hours about everything that had happened between him and Charles. Of course like the good policeman he was, he had wanted to know everything that had led to this fight between the two men and of course Haytham had only told him what he was willing to confess. To him, it was still not easy to tell really anyone that his former best friend had betrayed him. It was like admitting his personal failure, because that it was. It was a personal failure, for he had chosen Charles to be his friend, hadn’t he?

In front of Connor's room, he paused for a moment and looked through the small window in the door. At least his son was not alone. He was sitting somewhat more upright now, the headrest of his bed elevated just enough so the kid would not lie flat. He appeared still weak and pale, but his eyes were open and his grandfather was sitting beside him. They were skimming through the photo album. Connor grinned sheepishly about something his grandpa had apparently just said, however in the moment when Connor glanced at the door, Haytham ducked away quickly and he did not even know why.

During the last hours he spent at the police station he had wanted nothing more than to see his son again, now that he was finally awake, but now he could not bring himself to open that door and enter the room. Surely, Connor and he would never get along like Connor and his grandfather were. Suddenly it came crashing down on him, that he and Connor were always fighting when they were together, weren't they?

Connor had the incredible talent of always misunderstanding his father and Haytham on the other hand never understood Connor or what was going on in the boy's mind. Connor always wanted with his head through the wall. He always wanted to have his way no matter the costs. He ran around like a headless chicken and he always got himself in dangerous situations – as apparent now! Surely Connor would have it better growing up with someone like Edward as his father, because to Haytham it was almost unthinkable that Edward and Connor would ever fight.

Before he knew why he did so, he turned around and walked away.

\--------

Connor was almost sure that he had seen his father standing in front of the door, but then whatever he thought he had seen was gone. "Everything okay?" His grandfather asked, pinching Connor's left ear to make him flinch a bit. He was still in pain, though the morphine dripping from the IV-bag made it just a bit better to deal with the pain.

"Yes, I just thought I saw … never mind." Connor sighed before he leaned back into his cushions more again. "When is Dad coming back?"

"I'm sure he will not take any longer." Edward answered, as he slowly put the photo album aside, now that they were done skimming through the pages. He would not have thought it would be so much fun to look at the album with his grandpa like they had, but he had actually learned a bit more about his grandpa and more importantly about his father like this, for Edward had often paused to tell him brief little anecdotes about how his father had been as a child, whenever a photo of Connor would remind him of his own son. Like this Connor had learned that his father too had had a favorite plush he would always take with him – a teddy in his father's case. And he had learned that his grandpa had always needed to check under his dad's bed for monsters when he was little – something Connor's mother never needed to do! Well, maybe once or twice, but never without good reason! "I think the cops want to get his testimony right away." His grandpa continued and drove his large hand through his blonde hair, which was slowly becoming lighter, as Connor briefly noticed now that it was free from the hair band his grandpa usually used to pull it back with. His grandpa always had a hair tie or two on his left wrist, now he only got one, because the other was entangled in Connor's mane, as the teenager had noticed earlier. He did not mind. "I still can't believe what has happened. Hell, I should have been here."

Connor was silent for a moment, for he still did not know what to say about everything that had happened. One might even go as far as to say that he was still in shock, because even though his grandpa had told him everything, clearly his mind was not at all able to really process the information it had gotten earlier. Charles Lee had wanted to murder him when he had been helpless, maybe that was what was the most disturbing to him and why he did not want to be alone tonight in this room – why he wanted his father to come back soon, after he had noticed the bed the nurses had put up for him. What if he would be alone and asleep and Charles would sneak into his room again to smother him with a pillow this time? Of course, this idea was absolutely idiotic for he knew that Charles was in police custody for now, but after this idea first popped up in his mind he could not help but thinking about it.

What if his father had not been here in time? What if the alarm of the heart monitor would not have gone off? He felt uneasy lying here and though he was not tied to those machines anymore, he still felt as if he was at the mercy of other people in here. After all, all it had taken for Charles was to pull a switch! He had only needed to pull a switch to murder him and though he had not succeeded, he might as well have – or he could have caused him to suffer brain damage. Better not thinking about those possibilities, he guessed.

"Will you stay here if dad's not coming back?" Connor finally asked as he got a bit more comfortable again. It was already quite late and the world outside his window was pitch-black. He was tired and exhausted after all that stress and he wanted Liam with him … or his plush wolf at least. Edward chuckled softly and Connor really liked that sound or the way his blue eyes were always glistening with mischief and he always wondered a bit why his father could not be a bit more like his grandpa. How was it even remotely possible that his father became such a lame fart with a father as cool as Edward? "Of course, but he is coming back soon." His grandpa replied with a soft smirk before he hastily stood up. "This reminds me: Your dad went to your village before all that happened to grab a few of your things. I've all but forgotten about this during all this chaos."

Connor frowned. Of course the petulant teenager he was wanted to comment on his father's inability to know what Connor would like to have from his home. Surely he went to Teiowí:sonte's house and maybe he even got his plush wolf, but that was about it. After all, he knew about his father, Haytham would rather bring him a boring book to read. He was almost one hundred percent sure that his grandpa would produce a Shakespeare manuscript out of the backpack his father had apparently brought. Connor even recognized the backpack, for it was his.

The first thing his grandpa produced out of the backpack was indeed the plush wolf. "He lost it on the floor as he came running to kick Charles's ass." Edward grinned before he gave the plush to his teenage grandson. "I stuffed it in there so it wouldn’t get lost, sorry, if it felt uncomfortable."

" _He_." Connor corrected him frowning, but grabbed the plush nonetheless before his grandpa went back to unpacking the backpack.

"You know, I have never been prouder of Hayth, as I am now. Would have never thought the boy had it in him to kick someone's ass like he kicked Charles's!" As his grandpa finally produced his old woolen blanket out of the backpack Connor almost jumped. He did not quite know why he had never taken it during his stay with his uncle. He had certainly not forgotten about it, he just had not thought about the blanket. Not even when he went to his old home to grab a few of his things. But now seeing it again and having it here with him made him incredibly, stupidly happy and his grandpa did not hesitate to throw the blanket over him and the bed.

He was almost careful, as he grabbed the blanket to pull it higher, feeling the familiar fabric, the soft wool he had not even known he had missed so much and instantly thought about all those times he and his mother had snuggled together under this very blanket down in the living room to watch a movie, or when he had been sick and allowed to sleep in her bed. "Dad brought this?" He then asked, as if to make sure, but his grandpa only grinned.

"He did. He is not as bad as you think. He was going completely crazy since you were gone. He only … Well, he is not exactly good in communicating his emotions. I don’t know why that is, maybe because I was not as present as I could have been when he was growing up. Maybe it is my fault that he now tries to figure out everything for himself. Give him a chance." His grandpa finally pleaded with a faint smirk.

Connor wanted to roll his eyes, instead, he crawled a bit deeper under his blanket, pulling the plush closer – hidden under the blanket – like the child he still was. "But why didn’t he try to contact me? I mean… He could have called … or write me a message or he could've called me on skype… Desmond called me on skype."

"You father does not even know what a skype is." Edward laughed as he ruffled through his hair as good as he could due to the bandages wrapped around Connor's head. "I think he wanted to come into contact with you, but he simply didn’t. He focused his mind entirely on getting you back home, barely slept, punched Charles, was even thrown into a jail cell for one night for he got stupidly drunk - before he punched Charles. You, Sir, made a mess out of your poor dad."

Of course, he had already heard about what had happened between Charles and his father – which lead Charles to try to murder him today – and though he could still not believe that his father got drunk because of him and punched his best friend, he was still a bit impressed. And knowing that Charles Lee was responsible for him growing up without his father, only fueled his hatred towards the man, not only to mention that he now knew that it was also Charles Lee's fault how Pitcairn had treated him _and_ that his uncle took him back. To Connor, it was almost unbearable to think about this. It was unbearable to know that it took only one person, one individual to ruin someone's entire life. And yes, maybe this was an exaggeration of emotions, but it was true, wasn’t it? Charles Lee had ruined his life in at least some way. He could have had his father while growing up. He could have had a real family. Yes, maybe his parents might have split up anyway sooner or later, for, in all honesty, Connor could not imagine them to have worked out as a couple, no matter how much time they would have had. But at least he would have known his father and would have had the chance of seeing him growing up, learning from him, meeting his grandpa! Maybe his father would have read him bedtimes stories then instead of his mother. Maybe his grandpa would have volunteered even to go trick-or-treating with him on Halloween! Maybe be would have gone to London, see his dad's birthplace, get to know his other grandma before she died! He could have been _normal_ , like the other kids he knew from school or from the village. He could have been _not_ an outcast.

His grandfather's hand on his cheek brought him quickly back to reality and reality came crashing down on him hard. He had not had all this. He had not had his grandpa by his side growing up, going trick-or-treating with him, carving pumpkins or showing him London. He had not had his dad by his side to read him bedtime stories or look for monsters under his bed. He had not had a _normal_ family and yet he had loved his mother and he still did and he had had a happy childhood. Maybe it was spoiled to complain about it now. His mother had always shown him her love and she had raised him well. Complaining about not having it all was doing his mother injustice, he supposed. He should be thankful, that he had had her, that she had raised him to be a brave young man, to be always honest and good and to know his way around. He should be thankful, that he had had a mother who truly loved him, though she could as well have aborted him or give him away or treat him with resentment.

"You know, Connor" His grandfather began as Connor slowly looked up at him again. "You remind me of your dad when you are staring like this, glancing into the void. He does that too a lot and I think he isn't aware of it even. Now, move aside, boy. Make room for your old gramps."

Connor was shoved to the left side of his bed before he even understood what was really happening and then he witnessed his grandpa slowly rising from his chair and sitting down again on the side of the bed before he brushed off his leather shoes and lay down beside him. In this moment Connor got a very good understanding of how his grandpa would have been when he had been a child still or how he had behaved towards his father when he had been little.

"I don’t know what you mean." Connor huffed with red ears before hid grandpa pulled him a bit closer, not taking no for an answer. Connor had never been a boy too fond of physical contact. He had never really liked to be touched, no matter by whom (well with exception of his mom of course), but he had noticed that his father was a bit like this too. He always was so stiff.

"Of course you don’t, that’s why I'm saying it. You know, Connor, you and your dad are much more alike than you really know. For me, it is easy to see of course. I watch you and I see every little detail that you got from him, but you and he are both blind to those details. You both have the habit of staring mindlessly into the world, while in your head you are spinning tales, wondering about the world and the people around you, explaining your feelings to yourself, but you two rarely say things aloud - though I must say, that you at least speak up a bit more often than your father. To Haytham it is clear as sunlight, that he loves you with all his heart and that he would do anything for you - _By now_ at least. To him it's clear that he is not going to share you with anyone and that he will hunt down anyone who mistreats you - sadly he doesn’t say it and then he is surprised that no one understands this. You are like this too, that much I already noticed, especially with your father. You need to talk to him more, make the first step, be a petulant teenager if you must, say what you want from him, otherwise he will never understand."

Connor huffed again and this time he felt the warmth creeping up in his cheeks as well. He knew his gramps was right about this and yet it was a task almost unthinkable to fulfill to Connor. How should he and his dad ever get along? "How could he have ever befriended Charles Lee?" Connor finally muttered instead of speaking his heart, but his grandpa sighed and pulled him even closer instead of granting him an answer.


	19. Chapter 19

Haytham sat in the cafeteria of the hospital until the staff started to leave and although he was allowed to stay there as long as he wanted, picking up as much coffee from the vending machine as he liked to, he still got up around midnight and left the hospital altogether. He could not know if his father would stay with Connor because he had not gone back, but he assumed that he was. After the events of the day his father would not leave Connor all alone by himself surely and though it was Haytham's duty to go back to his child and apologize for not coming back earlier, he still left and walked through the snow covered streets towards the hotel, his father had rented a room in.

Outside it was freezing and the cold air told tales of snow once again and yet Haytham did not hurry, only buried his hands in the pockets of his coat and walked with leveled and calm steps. As the hotel was appearing out of the darkness in front of him with its bright illuminated letters spelling out its name on the roof and its large windows like mirrors in the darkness, he paused again, before he turned on his heels to look back. Behind him was now the hotel and in front of him, just at the corner of the street the large hospital complex. He could just go back, sneak into Connor's room and pretend as if he had been there the whole time.

He knew that he could just pretend as if he had needed to talk with the officers up until now and that he only now got the chance of coming back. Instead, he waved down a taxi, slipped inside, as it stopped beside him on the due to the weather rather quiet street and drove off.

At first, he did not know where he wanted to go to, for there were not many places he could think of. Surely he could let himself get driven back home to his fortress and try to act as if everything was normal as if everything was just like it had been before last October had greeted him with a child to care for – not that he had cared for said child much. And though the thought certainly crossed his mind, he did not decide to drive back home - because _home_ suddenly felt different to him. _Home_ suddenly felt very big and very empty when Connor was not around. By the start of their little experiment, Haytham had been deeply annoyed by all the ruckus one teenager could make without even trying. Connor had stomped through his house like an elephant, he had closed the door too loud for Haytham's comfort and not one night had passed within the first three weeks without Connor falling from the bed in the middle of the night, resulting in sleep disturbances for Haytham quite regularly. He had been terribly annoyed by all of this - or by the way his son had eaten his meals. Little details had set him off. Now he missed them. And if everything would be still as it were by the start of last October, he might have gone to Charles in this situation he found himself in now, but now that option had been taken from him.

He ended up at his office without remembering making that decision even, but suddenly, when he blinked, he was already there and yet he could hardly remember talking to the driver or giving him the money. Now as he walked through the dark building he felt all alone and yet at ease with the world. Inside the hospital room everything had been so tight, so pent up, so crammed and his senses always on edge by the beep-beep-beeping sound of the machines. Now he finally felt as if he could breathe again for the first time in months. He always had his key-card with him, so getting inside the building was not hard and though the reception was empty now, he knew that some offices were still occupied even that late in the night, by some of his employees eager to finish up something.

Weird. He had never thought about those people before. He had always taken it for granted that some of them would stay late into the night because of the tight schedules. Even Shay would normally stay at the office until Haytham would leave and Haytham himself was prone to stay until way after midnight. There had been times he had even slept inside his office – that was why he had this big comfortable leather couch standing in there.

Weird.

He drove up into the twelfth floor with the elevator and walked into the hallway leading to his office without thinking about it. He did not bother to turn on any kind of light, for he knew the layout of the building and the path to his office even blindfolded. When he rounded the last corner obscuring his view to the glass door leading to the lobby between his and Charles's (former) office, in which Shay usually sat, he noticed the faint shimmer of light coming from the room and stopped for a second.

The possibility of Charles having come back now crossed his mind quickly, but then he remembered, that Shay already told him that Charles had left his key-card on Shay's desk before he had left with his personal belongings. One might say anything about Charles's weak character and his vile acts, but in terms of business he was a role model and Haytham would miss him as a business partner.

It was the first time since all of this had happened that he found himself wondering how he would now replace his former friend, for clearly, he needed a replacement. Well, for that was time, later on, he guessed. Now, all that mattered was to have a look at the numbers, so he could feel again like he had the control over something. The only other person who could be the source of light over there was Shay and that was the exact reason why Haytham could not force himself to move on. He did not want to see Shay. He did not want to meet really anyone as for right now in this moment of personal failure.

"Mr. Kenway!" A voice behind him exclaimed in surprise, thick with this heavy Irish accent, Charles had always liked to mock. "What a surprise meeting you here so late!" Haytham clenched his jaw, but then he heard the small woof coming from behind him, forcing him to turn around just in time to have Liam jumping at him, his big ears wiggling in joy, just like his tail. Haytham scooped the wolf up in his arms without thinking twice and gave Liam at least the chance of licking his face, though he would have detested it under different circumstances. Suddenly though he thought back to his childhood and the family dog Thatch, named after his father's best friend Edward Thatch, whom his father had always mockingly called Blackbeard in the past, and how he had loved to play with the dog when he was young.

"I wanted to have a look at the numbers." Haytham then stated clearing his throat just enough to give it its usual firm sound and brisk accent, defining him as the man he was – Haytham Kenway, CEO of the _E. Kenway and son(s) Cooperation_ of the North American branch. He could not help but to gently tickle Liam's ears because the wolf seemed to like it and having him so close was somewhat calming. "Why are you still here so late?" He did not ask why Liam was here since the office was certainly no place for an animal to be at, simply because Shay was working long hours anyway and the wolf needed to be fed and walked like any other dog would too.

Hell, up until now he had never thought about how Connor and he would care for the little guy when Haytham would work and Connor would visit his school! Well… they had Mrs. Taylor and they had a big garden… Still…

"I wanted to check on a few more things with the Union before I leave. I just went on a brisk walk with Liam so he can sleep through the night until he needs out again in the morning." It was only then that he looked at the man in front of him. Shay grinned sheepishly and waved a paper cup of coffee at him. "'Used the opportunity to get in my daily fix of coffee."

"Don’t you mean your _nightly fix_?" Haytham replied before he moved forward towards the office once more.

"Oh tish-tosh, daily, nightly everything the same for me. Hardly sleep anyway lately."

"I am sorry for that." Haytham instantly replied though a part of him was not quite sure where this came from, as he opened the door and entered the lobby / Shay's office.

"No need to feel sorry, Sir." Shay chuckled as he followed him and then sat down heavily on his chair. He was not even wearing a coat and yet Haytham was well aware that Shay had not even been bothered by the cold outside in the slightest. That was just his nature, as he once told Haytham. Shay always liked to say that he had been raised in a very cold place. "How's Connor? Your father told me he is awake again!" Surely his father also told Shay everything else about the current situation without question. Surely Shay knew absolutely everything about Charles and the things that had happened inside the hospital today – well, yesterday actually now. A part of him was thankful that he did not need to relive all of this again with telling Shay about this.

"Yes, he is." Haytham slowly replied and set down Liam on the floor again, though the pup started to run around him like an idiot immediately before Haytham slumped down in one of the visitor chairs. "I don’t know how he is. I haven’t been there yet."

There was silence for a moment after Shay sat down on his own chair again and Haytham was very well aware of the fact that his secretary was staring at him intensely - a bit like a preying bird, though. "What do you mean you haven’t been there yet, Sir?"

"Well, I've been busy at the police station after everything that has happened with Charles." He tried to defend himself though he already knew that this would not work with Shay at all - not that he would care for his secretary's opinion in this matter anyway. Well he did, that was the entire problem.

"But you had had time afterward, hadn’t you? I mean, you were staying at the hospital anyway for the last couple of days. You could have just gone back after you were done at the police station and see your son." Shay replied with knotted eyebrows, his forehead covered in deep lines as if he was trying really hard to understand Haytham's reasoning behind all of this – like solving a puzzle that was not meant to be solved. "Is he alone right now?" Shay then asked surprised and a bit shocked by the sheer possibility that Connor might be all alone after everything that had happened to him.

"My father is with him I think."

"You think."

"Well, I don’t know. Last time I checked my father was with him and they were having a jolly good time. I think he just stayed there with the boy." Why was he even explaining himself to his secretary? He could have just told Shay to go fuck himself and that he was not supposed to ask such questions – but he did not. He wanted to state that he did not know why he didn’t, but in fact, he did know. It was absolutely clear to him why he refused to talk to Shay like this. Shay, after all, was his friend, a person he could trust.

"Last time you checked? So, you’ve been there and decided not to go inside?" His face was priceless and suddenly Haytham felt ashamed as he understood that Shay's face was now a mix of worry for his sanity and pity. Haytham Kenway was a man never afraid of facing anything. He never shied away from things and that was how everyone perceived and knew him, for that was simply who he had always been. That was how their family was. That was how Connor was. And yet he had been afraid of entering his son's room. Afraid of his reaction. Afraid of his resentment.

He didn’t know what to say.

"Sir, I don’t think he will be angry at you, but the longer you stay away from him, the more he will get angry and disappointed with you. You cannot leave him behind like this!"

"I'm not leaving him behind it's just that I … well, I just can't face him right now. I haven’t called him in over two weeks, haven’t seen him or heard of him or at least let him know that I was indeed fighting for him. Surely he thinks that I was glad getting rid of him again! After all, everything we do is fight with each other! We do nothing but fight!"

"You went after him as he ran off to New York." Shay supplied not so very helpful and Liam lay down over Haytham's feet on the ground.

"Yes and then he was taken from me again and I did nothing to prohibit it. I laughed in his face as he told me about Pitcairn. Let's face it, Shay. I am not a father. I am not meant to be a father and I will never be one – at least not the father Connor deserves. I can't even pronounce his name!"

"Certainly not." Shay then sighed quietly. "But I think Connor would settle for less than he deserves. He doesn’t seem very picky."

\-----------

Connor did not quite know what to feel or think, as he had woken up the next morning, with his grandpa sitting beside his bed again, dozing over a report of the company. No sign of his father. He did not even know if he should be surprised about the fact that his father had not come back to him during the night or if that was to be expected of the man. Maybe a tiny and quite idealistic part of his brain had wanted to believe that his father might come for him when he was asleep because he did not want to face him right away. He must have known Connor would be angry or at least disappointed that he had not tried to contact him at the very least.

As the day progressed his grandpa began getting nervous, glancing at his wristwatch every now and again, before finally, around noon, he announced that he really needed to attend a meeting and although Connor was nervous about being left alone in the hospital (with all those nurses and their needles!), he just nodded and wished his gramps luck, before the old pirate left him. At least his grandpa was heartbroken about the fact that he had to leave him here – maybe even about the fact that his own son turned out to be such an uncaring bastard in the end. Yet Connor hoped his father might poke his head through the door as soon as Edward had vanished. But he didn’t.

For the next hour, Connor was completely alone. Just him, his comic books, his plush wolf and the TV. He felt sad, but he did not want to feel sad.  What would it help if he would be sad because his father had no interest in making sure he was alright after a man had tried to murder him yesterday? Maybe he would start crying if he would be younger still. He felt like he did in New York, sitting in that snow covered park all by himself, with the only difference being that he was not shivering with cold. To him, it did hardly matter that his grandpa had told him his father was fighting for custody against his uncle and that he had been too tied up in all of the stress going hand in hand with the situation. Connor knew the difficulties his father was now facing as long as his uncle would refuse to give Connor back to his father and yet he did not want to understand that his father had not had time to even write him a short mail, asking him how he was in his imprisonment inside the village. The only thing Connor had really wanted was a sign of his father that he was wanted, but the only person that seemingly wanted to have him in their life was his grandpa. For everyone else, he was only ballast. That was how it always had been and how it apparently always would be.

He had just dozed off a bit as the door to his room was opened again and though his heart was suddenly jumping in anticipation and hope of seeing his dad, as he opened his eyes again – he was faced with his uncle.

\----------

He had thought when he would turn seventy years, he would have left his bad temper long behind him. He had thought, when he would turn seventy, he would have learned to understand the world and the people around him – maybe even his own son, who for the most people was a riddle wrapped up in an enigma. He had thought, when he would make it to seventy years, he would not get as emotional as he got in his youth and would not be as susceptible to getting angry at other people. He was wrong apparently. Now he wanted to believe that no one, no matter their age, was immune to all of this. No matter what great a wisdom he would collect over the course of one life even if he would live seventy more years, it would never be enough to be not affected by anger and disappointment.

And disappointed he was, as he found his only son sitting in his office behind the large oak wood desk. He had known he would find him here, even without Shay's SMS he received over two hours ago when he had been still at the hospital, waiting. He could have gone right away to face his son, but he wanted to grant him a bit more time to come on his own, but since he did not, what other choice did Edward have than to come here and drag the petulant boy out of his office?

"I hope you are aware of the fact that you are breaking your son's heart." Edward growled, as he walked straight into Haytham's office and barely noticed that Liam was running after him immediately. Apparently, Shay had provided the little guy with a comfortable little nest near his desk. He did not care that he was barging into Haytham's office any maybe disturbing him by important business. After all, this was his company and he could barge in every office he liked.

"I hope you are aware of the fact that you are being melodramatic. He will get over it. Connor is not dumb, he will understand that I have work to do." But Edward was already in front of his desk, slamming his old hands down on the wood so heavily Haytham's cup of tea nearly fell over by the impact. He might be old and his hands not as strong as they used to be when he had been still a seafarer, but the strength he got left would still suffice to give his only son a darn good spanking if needed.

"I always thought I would have raised a _man_ and not something like you, Haytham! I thought you were a man who stands behind his decisions and acts like a responsible person! I thought you would treat this boy as he deserves and not cower in your office like a fool who is afraid of his own child!"

Haytham leaned back in his chair, scoffing at him. "Responsibility. As if you would know what it meant being a responsible adult and taking care of one's children. As we all know you really did a great job in caring for your offspring, right? Maybe I should call Jenny and ask her about this."

The guilt of not having been there for Jenny was still gnawing at him and Haytham knew this perfectly well, but he had not expected his son _not_ to use this against him, after all, he was his son and that was what he would do if their places were swapped. "This is not the same, Haytham and you know that." He would not talk with Haytham about Jenny or the mistakes he had made bringing up Haytham. Oh, surely not. "This is about _your_ son. If I was such a bad father, then please proof to me that you are better at this and go to the hospital! He is waiting for you! You can't even imagine how sad and disappointed he was when he woke up this morning only to find that you were still not there with him! Of course, he is angry that you haven’t contacted him in the past weeks, but all the boy wants is his dad by his side!"

"He has you, that should be better. At least you two are getting along."

"But that is not the point, Haytham! I am not his father and I will never suffice! As insane as it might be – and I would agree on that with you – all the boy wants is having _you_ by his side and be his father! And now get up and come with me. Don’t be such a fucking coward, if not for me than for Connor. He needs you, he is afraid and he is in pain, whether he admits to it or not!" He was getting more and angrier the longer he just stood here and looked at this ridiculous man he had decided to bring into this world together with his wife (though clearly, this was Tessa's fault). Why was this man not even able to see how much he was hurting his kid? Or did he?

Haytham's face was the same stoic mask it had ever been as he stared at him now, but he did not make a move in any direction and suddenly Edward grew very well aware of the fact that his son was genuinely afraid of meeting his son in the hospital.  Oh dear.

\-------

As Connor was faced with his uncle one more time he was sure that he was there to take him back to the village immediately. He was sure Teiowí:sonte would rip him right out of this bed covered only in this god awful hospital gown he had to wear and take him right back to the village. Not because his uncle was worried for him and wanted him to be with the family though of course. Simply because he did not want to run the risk of his father coming back and keeping him from the village and thus keeping the money from Teiowí:sonte, which his uncle so desperately wanted to press out of him. For just this instance Connor found himself wondering if his cousin knew about everything that had happened.

Well, surely he knew about Connor's accident and that he was here now, but he wondered if his cousin knew that his father wanted to keep Connor for the money his father could give them and if he knew also that this money was going to Kanen'tó:kon's college fund apparently. He wanted to believe that his cousin would never agree on something like this, but then again he felt as though he hardly even knew his cousin since he had come back to the village.

"How are you, Ratonhnhaké:ton?" His uncle asked, appearing careful and trying to appear as though he really cared. Of course, that was absolutely ridiculous and they both knew this and yet his dark eyes appeared almost sincere, as he walked towards the bed and sat down on the chair his grandpa had previously occupied.

"I'm okay." Connor muffled after he noticed that he had not answered the question yet.

"I'm glad to hear that. You really scared us there, boy. Where is your father?" Teiowí:sonte asked and gestured to the makeshift bed, indicating that his father had been here and even stayed overnight at one point since Connor was in the hospital. One of the nurses had wanted to dismantle it already, but the old nurse, which always gave him his meds, stopped that from happening and only tidied up a bit just in case his father would want to spend the night again – which Connor doubted quite heavily. He did not quite know why his uncle asked about his father, but it was either that he wanted to avoid meeting him here or that he wanted to rub it in Connor's face that his dad was in fact not with him.

"Work." Connor replied. Of course, he did not know for sure, but since he knew his father he could hardly think of anyplace else where he could be right now. Of course, work was always more important than him apparently. Well, maybe, just maybe, he was just behaving a little bit childish there, thinking like this and yet it was true nonetheless.

"Well, then we can talk in private at least." Teiowí:sonte smiled and extended his hand to ruffle through Connor's hair, but the boy immediately flinched back and his uncle dropped his hand. "Ratonhnhaké:ton, don’t make this difficult. You know that you have to come back with me, right?"

"I don’t have to do anything I don’t want!" Connor hissed. That was, of course, no new revelation to him, but after he had talked more with his grandpa he came to embody this statement and he did not care that his uncle grew angry at him again, though a tiny part of him began to feel frightened. He still had no clue what he had done wrong that so many people hated him without reason as it seemed to him now. What if his uncle would attack him like Charles had? He was not able to properly fight back and even if he would be, he was no match for a man like his uncle. The man could just take him and nobody would probably care, for Teiowí:sonte still held custody over him.

"What would your mother say if she could hear you now, boy?" His uncle sighed deeply annoyed with his misbehaving nephew. "She wanted you to grow up with your family, with your tribe so you could carry on our traditions into the next generation, so our culture will not get lost along the way! She would be fiercely disappointed with you, _Connor_."

Connor wanted to snap at him. Out of his uncle's mouth, his name sounded like an insult. He wanted to say that his uncle should not pronounce his name like he always did when he would call him Connor to mock him. He wanted to say that Connor was _also_ the name his mother gave him and that there was nothing to mock about this. "Would you mind leaving him alone already? I believe you are not welcome here."

If this would be a cheesy movie the arrival of his father would now be announced not only by his booming voice but also by fanfares or dramatic music playing in the background. There was no music in the background, though, only his father standing in the doorway to his room after his uncle had left the door wide open when he came in. A part of him was glad that his father came back of course and a part of him was even glad that his father came to his rescue _now_ , but the bigger part of him was simply still angry and wanted to show that to his dad. But then again if he would turn on his dad _now_ in this very situation with his uncle being at his side and wanting him to come back to the tribe, the old man could misunderstand this and think that he was siding with his uncle!

"Kenway." His uncle greeted his father with that very same mocking undertone he had addressed Connor with before. "I believe Ratonhnhaké:ton can speak for himself, can he not? Or is it in your culture normal that parents - even those who did not even try to get in contact with their children - automatically speak for their children?"

"And is it normal in your culture to steal away other people's children for money's sake? I knew you were shady from the start! Always only interested in making money, in skimming rich people! That was why you hated me from the start because I looked right through you and because I refused to support your stupid projects with my money. And now as a revenge call you are trying to take away my kid, but don’t even care enough about him to take care that he won't get hurt under your watch! How is it even possible, that Connor got hurt like this?" His father was foaming with rage, at least that was something Connor could acknowledge, though he still had no idea why that was. Was he angry that his son as in his property got hurt, or was he angry because he had been honestly afraid to lose him? And was there even a difference?

"And how is it even possible that under your watch Ratonhnhaké:ton ran off to New York? And how is it even possible that under your watch Ratonhnhaké:ton got humiliated and beaten by his teacher? Wasn’t this Mr. Pitcairn a friend of yours? Didn't you support this punishment after you learned about it? Don’t think I would not have looked into this situation and don’t think I would not know everything about what has happened." Connor felt his guts clench. He felt nauseous, not because of the things that were said, but because of the ongoing fight between those two men. He felt like the biggest burden although he knew that it was not his fault! But then he looked in awe as his father stomped towards Teiowí:sonte, grabbed his uncle by the shoulders and pulled him from the chair. He almost expected his father to punch the man, at least his face looked like he wanted to, red in anger, blotched around his cheeks, his teeth bared and his eyebrows knotted. Only then he noticed his father could use a shave.

"Leave now, Teiowí:sonte, or I swear to god I will feed you your teeth. It would not be the first time lately, do not make me any angrier than I already am. I will sue you for not keeping an eye on my son. And after I am done with you, you will wish that you would never have messed with me or my kid. Don’t forget, Teiowí:sonte, I have the money to utterly destroy you and _don’t think_ I would not use it." Haytham hissed before he shoved the man towards the door of the hospital room. His uncle glanced at Connor, his eyes deep with fury, but just as he was about to say something which was surely aimed to set off his dad, some insult for either Connor or his father, Teiowí:sonte noticed the tall, slender figure of Shay Cormac appearing in the doorway, clenched his jaw and left the room once and for all, though Shay did not step aside at first, only glared at the man before he let him go and then stepped into the room with a small smirk regarding Connor as if to say _I brought you your father for lunch, I could bring you fork and knife or hack him into bite-sized bits first_.

"Is everything alright in here?" Shay asked though he did not really need to. Of course, nothing was alright in there. How could it? Connor felt nervous and weird after his uncle had left him now again. He felt weird having witnessed this little power duel between the two men both tugging at one of his arms to drag him onto their side, though not one of them seemed to really care for him. One of the men was pulling at him because he saw a cash cow in Connor and the other man was pulling at him because he thought it was his right to have his child with him. There was no love, apparently – or at least it felt like there wasn’t.

"Yes, thank you, Shay." Haytham shortly turned around and nodded. "I think we'll be fine from here on." Shay, however, stepped closer to the bed anyway, only to produce a chocolate bar out of his black coat and to lay it down on Connor's nightstand.

"Liam is alright." Shay shortly commented and ruffled carefully through Connor's hair, before he winked at him and left as if he had never been here. Under different circumstances, Connor would have maybe even grinned or devoured the chocolate right away, but now he just wanted to hide under his blanket and just ignore the world and his father at the most. He was sad. Awfully sad. And when Shay closed the door behind himself he avoided looking at his dad as the man sat down beside him on the chair that had been occupied by his uncle before.

"How are you?" Haytham asked, but his voice sounded so strained to even ask such a simple question as if it was against his nature entirely or as if he was reading this simple question from a card in his hand. As Connor did not answer and turned his head to the other side so he could stare out of the window where he saw the first snowflakes floating down lazily to the ground again, his father sighed. "I was worried out of my mind for you."

"Yeah?" Oh, fuck his temper! Connor hated how weak his own voice sounded. He wanted it to sound sarcastic and bitter! He hated how broken it sounded all of the sudden! He did not want to sound like a child that was going to weep! And yet he could not help but think about everything that had happened since his mother had died. It was not even a year! She was gone for only a few months now and yet his entire life had gone to shit since then! There was no other way to put it! Everything had just turned to shit completely! "Why weren't you here then?" He growled to make his voice sound more strong, though it was not and it did not help of course.

"I was busy." Haytham replied out of an impulse or at least it sounded like this. "I needed to talk to the police and then … It was quite late when I came back and I did not want to disturb you."

"Oh stop lying already!" Connor hissed and shortly pinched the brink of his nose only to try to get rid of this senseless burning in his eyes, which he simply did not need right now. He simply could not start crying now! "If it wasn’t for Shay you would not be here now, just admit it. Admit that you were glad that you could get back to your work again and that you would rather be in your office than with me. Why else have you not tried to contact me earlier? Why else would you ignore me? You only want me back home on principle! You don’t want me home because you _want me home_ , but because you don’t want anyone else to have me!"

His father tried to grab his hand resting uselessly on his stomach. His left wrist was broken and since he could not do anything with his left hand now, it mainly just lay around uselessly. He was still weak and still in pain most of the time, even though the nurses would give him morphine when it got too bad for him to cope with. His skull was fractured, he got a concussion, a few of his ribs were bruised and apparently he even had had inner bleedings from his glorious accident. Not even to mention that he had nearly frozen to death. He felt like crap and yet, as his father wanted to grab his hand, he moved it away as quickly as he could, not wanting to come into contact with the man who was his father.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton… Please, just give me a second chance." He was taken by surprise by this for sure and it was quite hard to even conceal it, so he just stared at his father with owlish eyes in surprise as he heard his own name rolling from his father's tongue as if it meant nothing and as if he had not always stumbled over it and refused on even trying to use it.

"And you mean only because you now can pronounce my name I forgive you?" He scoffed but slid deeper under his blanket, before his father got up. For a moment he thought he would leave him again, but then he sat down on the end of Connor's bed and before Connor even knew what was happening his father had shoved his hands underneath the blanket and grabbed his feet to hold them captive. Connor squeaked in shock about how cold his father's hand were on his poor warm, naked feet and tried to free himself, but his father would not let him. "Forgive me now?"

"No!" Connor huffed with red cheeks, still trying to wiggle free, but his father's grip was of iron.

"Forgive me and I will remove my hands!" The situation was odd for sure.

"Never!" He still replied angry and stubborn. He was not beaten into submission so easily!

"Then you do not leave me another choice!" His father's hands moved to his calves and Connor squealed again. It was like his father would drag ice over his sensitive skin, torturing his poor son so shamelessly.

"Okay, I'll give up! Stop it!" He did not like the cold at all. He was used to cold of course and he had no problem in walking around outside during weather like this, but he absolutely detested it if his body grew cold or to touch cold things.

"Then tell me what has happened in the woods. Tell me why you ran away during a blizzard to injure yourself like this." His father demanded with a gaze like frost itself directed at Connor, angry about his son's stupidity.

"Remove your hands first!" He squeaked and when his father removed his hands finally he pulled up his legs and feet closer to his chest. He took a moment before he glared at his father again, but Haytham did not seem to care, he only got a bit more comfortable on the bed.

"So? No dirty tricks anymore, I am all ears." His father then replied dryly and grabbed the chocolate bar on Connor's bedside table, but he was quicker, grabbing it and pulling it close to his chest so that his thief of a father would not even try to steal it from him. Oh no, he would certainly not share his sweets with his father.

"I… I heard him and Aunt Una talk about the money they want to press from you for me. Uncle Teiowí:sonte wants to take the money you would need to pay them for Kanen'tó:kon's college fund and to reduce his debts."

"I wasn’t aware that he has debts to his name."

"Yes, he has. He speculated too much with the money of his clients apparently and got into a lot of trouble. This whole situation came right on cue to him I think." Connor mumbled quietly. He was not at all comfortable with telling this. He felt like a buffalo being sold on the market. "I couldn’t stand being there so I ran away."

"Yes, you do that quite a lot don’t you?" He kicked his father. He simply could not help himself, but to kick him against his hip – not hard, of course, only enough to shove him a bit and draw a small laughter from his dad before he pulled his leg into safety again.

"What was I supposed to do?" He huffed with flushed cheeks because, clearly, he did not want to look like the headless chicken he was most of the time. Well, he was only fifteen, maybe he could use this as his defense still.

"Call me, for example."

"Yeah right as if I would call you after you did not contact me…" He scoffed and made himself a bit smaller in his little nest. "Anyway, I ran into the woods, after I grabbed the photo album. I did not even know where to go to, but I just wanted to stay away from the house a bit. I walked for a while and decided I wanted to visit the old man again, but then I slipped and I fell down the ravine." The blanket his father collected from his former home was giving up warmth quite nicely and Connor thoroughly enjoyed this warm, fuzzy feeling. He even enjoyed having his father sitting on the bed. They were both not very touchy people apparently. Clearly, he got that from Haytham and for Haytham it really must be something to go out of his way to grab his son's feet like he had done before, simply to annoy him. That was something a father would do, right? Annoy the living crap out of their child by torturing them.

"I'm sorry." Haytham finally stated honestly and looked at him again. "Really, I am. I was so pent up in all this juristic bullshit during the last weeks that I hardly got even home sometimes. I was only focused on getting you back home with me as quickly as possible. I was so busy with myself and my own issues that I forgot about the most important thing in this whole situation."

"Oh don’t be cheesy now, dad. Woe you say _I_ was the most important thing." Connor sighed, rolling his dark eyes at his father's cliché statement.

"What? Of course not. I meant, of course, my stamp collection." Haytham replied with all the seriousness he had to offer.

"You don’t even have one. I must know, I searched your entire house when I was alone." Connor then silently admitted grinning. "How did you learn how to pronounce my name anyway? I tried to teach you and you would never learn!"

"Shay."


	20. Chapter 20

Haytham Kenway thought he had already experienced everything he possibly could experience with his son, after he and Connor started living together. Of course, he never changed the boy's diapers and thus was missing a crucial part of being a parent, but instead of changing his diapers, he had experienced far worse already, he thought. He had already experienced the panic and anxiousness that came when a child decided to run away from home and even though gladly he had found his boy almost unharmed from this experience, same could not be said about the experience his son had made with his teacher. He had also already experienced the pain when someone decided to take away one's child to have it live with them instead and he had already had experienced the feeling of utter helplessness, when one was confronted with the very real possibility of their child dying in a hospital bed without having the chance of doing something about it.

Yes, they really had gone through quite a lot already and Haytham was sure that they were both aware on that fact, however the perception of having already experienced everything he could possibly experience with that boy, failed him when he witnessed how Connor was going to bury a hatchet in one of the white painted, wooden columns of his veranda, which was supporting the small porch roof. "What on earth are you doing there, boy?" Haytham snapped at him as he hurried out the front door, watching in horror how his son flung his right arm back to slam the hatchet into the column. Was this his son's insanity taking over after everything that had happened? Was this his wild side taking over, Lee had warned him about? Was this now Connor trying to cope with all the trauma he had experienced within the past months? Should he worry about his son's mental state? Insanity often came with adolescence, he had read at some point in his life. Hormones taking over the brain of a teenager, making him think and feel and do all kinds of crazy stuff and after all, Connor was sixteen now…

"When my people go to war, a hatchet is buried into a post to show that it's done!" Connor replied frowning, as his father stopped his hand with said hatchet before the boy could do what he wanted to do and possibly risk that the porch roof would come crashing down on them. He had known that it was a bad idea of his elderly father to gift his grandson this bloody thing to his sweet sixteen. From Haytham the boy had gotten a bus pass only to be frowned upon.

"And with whom are you going to war now?" Haytham asked and took the weapon from his child, even though he did not know if he really wanted to hear the answer to that question. He would only hurt himself with this thing. Really, didn’t his father know Connor's tendency to stupidly injure himself by now? As if this boy would be able to handle such a weapon! He could not even handle a simple kitchen knife! Last time he had helped Mrs. Taylor cooking dinner, he had nearly cut off his left ring finger cutting carrots!

"With you!" The boy replied as he turned around to stare up at him, panting like an especially tiny baby bull. Haytham had thought the boy would surely experience a growth spurt when he would turn sixteen because that was how it had been with him, but Connor had not grown at all since last year. It was October again and the last sunny days of autumn were passing by way too quickly for Haytham's liking. The nights started to grow cold again and the first preparations for Halloween were already taken. Even on his front porch, there would be pumpkins because Connor had argued so long and hard with his father about this, that Haytham at some point just gave up and threw in his towel. So at least his son could not be angry because of the Halloween decorations after they had just spent the last Saturday afternoon to carve dozens and dozens of spooky and not so spooky pumpkin faces.

"What have I done now you insolent child?" He sighed, as Liam casually walked up to them from the back of the house. Unlike his owner, Liam had grown quite a lot during the last year. He had a shoulder height of ca. 35 inches by now and was with his 90 pounds quite a heavy snuggling companion to his son now. When Liam had been a whelp (even though in his mind Liam was still a pup and tried to act like one too), he had almost always slept on top of Connor – and that was still the case. The wolf liked to lay across Connor's stomach a lot, always pinning the poor boy into place. His fur had gone a lot lighter now that he was a bit older. He was of a white-greyish color now, a rather beautiful animal with his soft, fluffy ears and tail. As a baby, he had been almost entirely black, but of course, that was normal for Timberwolves, as Haytham had learned by now. But even though Liam was technically an adult now, he was still an idiot and ran around freely on the property, even though Haytham and Connor needed to install a wooden fence at some point to hinder the idiot from wandering off and scaring the neighbors.

Most neighbors knew of course who Liam was, his name and home address were attached to his collar on a silver plate just in case he would get lost. But Liam did not like to wear the bloody thing. However, he had no problem with wearing a paisley necktie. Apparently, their wolf had at least a tiny bit of fashion sense. Now, however, he was naked and shortly rubbed his nose against Connor's leg to emphasize his presence just in case someone would overlook the puppy.

The boy, on the other hand, did not even make an attempt in answering his poor father to give him at least a hint of relieve. "Is it because of the party still?" Haytham then sighed and rubbed the brink of his nose. He noticed that he was doing that a lot lately.

"You bet it is and now give me back the hatchet I am not done yet!" The boy - his son, this awful, awful child - huffed.

"Connor for the love of god, you are too young to go to that Halloween party!" Because it was in Boston! It was not in their neighborhood and thus it was not safe. Oh hell, he would not let his kid go to a Halloween party in the city! In the end, he would get drunk and get hit by a car!

"But Desmond asked me to come!" Connor frowned, still stubbornly trying to get back his weapon.

"First of all, Desmond is almost eighteen years old, second of all, I do not care if William Miles allows his under-aged son to go to a Halloween party even if it would be in Timbuktu or if he allows him to stay until after midnight at said party! You, Sir, will not stay so long in Boston at this party and thus you will not go at all because I will not drive you or pick you up. I am not your chauffeur." He would have never thought that this was something he would say at one point in his life. Oh, where did his life go so tragically wrong? What had happened? Where did he make the wrong turn?

"But Daaaaaaad! All my classmates are going to be there! How am I ever supposed to find friends if you don’t let me go to something like that?"

"I would let you go if you would not be a petulant child about it and agree on an earlier curfew. Unless you do, you stay here with your boring father."

"But that is not faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaair!" He really was a petulant teenager now. Apparently sweet, nice little Connor had finally embraced his bratty side and his biggest supporter was his wolf of course, who started whining just to emphasize his owner's pain so that Haytham needed to raise his voice as he spoke up again.

 _"Other than this_ , you awful, awful child, I already made plans for the Halloween night, of which I thought you might like it." Finally, he got the attention of his son – and the _pup_ – again. "I wanted it to be a surprise, but since you decided to behave like a three-year-old again, it cannot be helped apparently. I decided the two of us-" Liam moaned. "I meant _the three of us_ , of course, could go on a little camping adventure."

\----------------

His father was not one for camping. Connor had known this as soon as he met the old man for the very first time. So, this revelation came not as sudden as it seemed to him now, as he watched in awe how the old man tried to set up their tent, as Connor came back with Liam from their little trip to search for firewood. "It's going to rain soon, Dad, you should hurry up a bit."

"Silent, you insolent child!" Haytham huffed, as Connor first put down the firewood he had found and then sat down on a nearby tree trunk to simply watch in amazement how his father made a fool out of himself. He was quite good at this, as Connor needed to acknowledge while Liam was inspecting the world around them a bit, sniffing at some bushes and wandering around the small glade. "You could help, you know?" His father then turned to him with raised brows. "Other than this the weather report had not said anything about rain. It should be a sunny day, perfect for us going fishing and hiking."

"You hate hiking." Connor briefly reminded his father with one raised eyebrow to emphasize his words.

But his father stubbornly repeated:"Perfect for us to go fishing and hiking."

Connor just rolled his eyes, before he got up and decided to finally help his father setting up the tent. It could not be helped anyway apparently. His father would not listen to him, let alone abandon his plan of spending a few days with his son out here in the wilderness - whatever made him have this idea in the first place. "This will never keep us safe from the rain tonight."

"As I said, there will be no rain."

It started raining in the afternoon, around the time when Connor had caught his first fish for dinner. It started as a small drizzle, nothing to really worry about as his father so stubbornly claimed, while Liam had already vanished into their tent – for he hated rain so much he would walk under Connor's umbrella if they would go out during rainy weather. "You didn’t want to listen to me." Connor huffed as he placed the first fish into their camping cooler. He was still quite a bit impressed that his father really did buy all these things for their camping trip and still surprised that his father had the idea of going on a camping trip with him in the first place – though a teeny tiny part of him suspected that this was only because his father wanted to get Connor on his side again after he had not allowed him to visit this party in Boston together with Desmond.

Well, at least he had no phone or internet connection out here so Desmond could not possibly send sad selfies to him anymore. He was getting kind of sick of them during their drive out here from Boston.

"Indeed and I still refuse to. You'll see, son, the rain will stop any minute now."

It got worse by the time Connor had caught the third fish and placed it into the cooler and yet his father sat at their fireplace with the most stoic mask there ever was of determination on his face, while he was trying to create a spark of light their already moist firewood. "I hate to break it to you, old wolf, but it's getting worse."

"It'll pass."

By the time the sun was about to set they were sitting inside their tent, and stared at each other wordlessly, while Liam laid comfortably on Haytham's sleeping bag. "I said-"

"Don’t you dare." His father interrupted him immediately, but Connor only grinned. "It will pass."

"Dad. This is not going to pass. I'm hungry. You're hungry. We cannot cook our fish in this tent. Not even Liam is going out to pee!"

"Liam is a diva." His father replied and the wolf lifted his head just enough to stare at him in surprise of this sudden attack after he had done nothing to deserve this kind of backstabbing from his papa-wolf. "And we do still have the sandwiches Mrs. Taylor made for us and the potato salad she prepared. You'll see, it will pass."

It was around eight PM as the storm was starting to rip at their tent. Connor had dozed off at some point, snuggled up to Liam on his dad's sleeping bag, as the first sounds of thunder rolling over them shook him awake again with all its might, alarming the young Kenway. "Dad! Come on now! We cannot stay here during a thunderstorm! There are metal things in this tent! It's not safe in here."

"So what do you propose then? Do you want to hike back up to the car?" - Because they had left it a good of three miles away in the parking lot provided for the campers coming down here and there was no way they would or could hike up there again during a storm. Right now he really did envy Desmond being at this party with all their friends, even though Connor was not one for such elaborate parties anyway. At least this Halloween night out here in the woods was kind of creepy.

"Well for this it's too late now anyway, _Dad_. I've seen a cave not far off when I was investigating the area with Liam this morning."

"A cave."

"Yes, a cave, old man! At least we can make a fire in there to keep us warm, because if you haven’t noticed it, Dad, it's cold!" Cold it was really. Not as cold as it soon would get truly, but cold enough to make a night out here without a warming fire uncomfortable and maybe even dangerous. It took not much to finally get his father to understand and pack his stuff. After they were done grabbing their large backpacks and shoving their sleeping bags and other stuff inside again, Connor grabbed the cooler and they were off into the rain.

"You are aware that it is much more dangerous for us to run around in a forest during a thunderstorm, are you?" His father tried to interrupt the howling of the heavy wind, as soon as they dove right into the dark forest, their flashlights their only source of light.

"Not as dangerous as sitting in a tent." Connor scoffed as they hurried through the underwood. Of course, it was not quite easy to run around the nightly forest during a thunderstorm such as this, with the danger not only to slip and fall but also with the danger of branches breaking off of trees and bashing their heads in. Poor, wet Liam was leading the way to the cave, which thankfully was not so very far off from their camping spot on the glade anyway. And yet the rain was so heavy and the fog so thick that it was almost impossible to see the path even with their flashlights shining thin rays of light into the darkness. The leafs which had already been falling from the trees made the ground slippery and even more dangerous than it would be without this in the daylight, oh so very colorful blanket lying atop of the wet ground.

His father had a bit more trouble to keep up with him of course, but his father was not in a bad shape either. He was quite fit and fast too (for a pencil-pusher) and yet he was not as fast as Connor, simply for he lacked the experience Connor had. As the first lightning bolt shot down from the skies and thunder was loudly crashing nearby, Connor hurried up a bit. The lights of their flashlights were dancing in the darkness in front of him but then, finally he found the entrance to the cave and waved to his father "Come on, we're almost there, Raké:ni!" The word just slipped from his tongue without him even noticing it as Liam ran ahead into the cave.

At least they did not need to worry about bears in those woods.

It was cold inside the cave as Connor entered it with his father following shortly after, but that was hardly any surprise, after all, he was soaking wet from the rain and so were Liam and his father. Liam was already trying to shake off the water from his fur, whining in frustration over his currently quite wet condition before he slumped down heavily on the cold ground. "At least now I understand why you have put some of the firewood in our tent." His father huffed, while Connor was already looking for stones to frame their fireplace with. Apparently, they were not the first to use the cave like this, for he spotted the remains of a fireplace not far from the entrance so the smoke could take-off through the hole.

"Yes, you have a smart son." Connor replied as he then began to unpack his backpack and pulled the firewood he could save from their tent out of it. He had known his father would be too stubborn to listen to him, that was why he had gone on a little investigation with Liam in the first place while he had been off to collect the firewood this morning. He even collected a bit of extra firewood along the way this morning and already placed it into the cave – just in case. But after one year with his father, he knew the man quite well apparently and he also knew to always trust his instincts and his gut feeling. "You should give his allowance or his curfew a boost. Now undress, old man."

He was aware of the look his father shot him while he was trying to get the fire going and tried not to look at his father at all while he did so with his soaking wet hair hanging in his face and obscuring his view. "Pardon?" His father finally found his voice gain, but Connor just looked at him in pure amazement.

"Oh please, Dad, don’t tell me your basic common sense is still not working! We are soaking wet! We will catch a cold if we keep these clothes on, so go on and take them off. Surely you'll have something to change!"

He always forgot that this was his father's very first camping trip even though it was not easy to forget this. His father had with exception of underwear no exchange clothes brought with him, but at least the old man finally changed his soaking wet underwear in a dark corner of the cave (as if his son would stare at him while changing!), before he pulled out his sleeping bag from his backpack and put it down on the ground to sit on.

"Really Dad…"

"Oh come on how was I supposed to know that we would find ourselves in such a situation?" His father interrupted before Connor could even begin to start lecturing him - even though it was always great fun to lecture his father.

"Because I said so!" Oddly he felt like their places were swapped all of the sudden, but he brushed the thought off and continued his business.

"Well then boy, show me how a good camper prepares his trip then! I'm sure _you_ have exchange clothes!" His father immediately shot back, his voice slightly higher pitched this time, like always when he was being sarcastic or annoying.

"Of course I have!" Connor hissed as he finally got the fire going and immediately turned to his own backpack to start searching for his exchange clothes. He would change right into his PJs. He searched. And he searched.

"Well?"

Connor really wanted to scream. "I don’t understand! I remember having put the stuff on the bed I wanted to take with me for changing! I know it! My PJs were with them too!" And his underwear was after all in his backpack, so why weren't the other things? Apparently, though, his other jeans and shirts, together with his PJs were lying still on his bed in safety. At least he had his exchange socks.

His father was the first one to start laughing and Connor then shortly followed after he slumped back on his still very much wet ass. This could not be true, really and yet he could not stop laughing, even when his tummy started to hurt from it. Only after a while, his father found his voice again, rubbing his eyes.

"Go on then, boy, _change_." He chuckled and bit back another fit of laughter. "I got this now."

Connor had already snuggled up in his dry underwear (and warm socks) and his sleeping bag with Liam way too close for his liking now, that he smelled of wet dog, near the fire, as his father looked at him again. He too was already lying down in his sleeping bag, his reading glasses on his nose and a book in his hands, while Connor was reading the new comic book he had gotten right before the trip from Desmond.

"You said something earlier. What does it mean?" His father tried to grab his attention all of the sudden.

"What does what mean?" Connor replied confused, lifting his eyebrows as he was shortly glancing over the edge of his comic book. The light was, of course, dim inside the cave, but at least the fire was giving them the warmth they needed in here. Well … at least _now_ this Halloween night really was creepy.

"You know I cannot pronounce those native words!" His father replied with a frown. Of course, he knew, that was why Connor liked to sometimes curse in his mother tongue, knowing that for one his father would not be able to understand and would not be able to reply the words back to his son to force a translation out of him. It was genius.

"Oh, you mean _Raké:ni."_ He grinned sheepishly.

"Yes, well was this another insult? If so: you are grounded."

"It means _father_."

Of course, he could have said anything and his father would never be able to know, but instead of being suspicious, his dad only produced an _Oh_ and kept staring before he cast his eyes down again at his book. "I like the sound."

"Oh, finally you like something I say." Connor huffed.

"Yes, you have our kingly allowance to use it from now on."

"How boring…" Connor scoffed, but he hid a grin behind his comic. Surely he had been a bit sad first that he could not go to that Halloween party with Desmond and their friends Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy, but instead needed to go camping with his boring father in the Halloween night, but now he was a bit glad that he did.

One year had passed since he first went to seek out his father and since then they had experienced quite a few turbulent things together. Looking back now everything seemed to have happened so fast and yet it was only last month that the court had finally made a decision about the custody and granted it finally to his father. A few months ago everything had seemed so dire to Connor, everything so awfully serious and dark and now he could still hardly believe that in his documents the name Kenway was attached to his name. He was a Kenway now, but then again he was not sure if that was what his mother might have wanted him to be. He was not sure if his mother would be glad to see father and son united at last. Would she be proud of him now? Would she be happy to see them now? Surely she would find it funny how deranged her ex-boyfriend looked like after this little adventure. His father was more like a prancing black cat with always flawless fur, spending its days inside to loaf around on warm spots in the sunlight. It was weird being out here with him, he looked so utterly misplaced!

"Why did you want to go camping anyway?" He finally found himself asking and could hardly believe that he had not done so before. Weird, but he had simply not felt the need to ask this question up until now. His father looked at him again shortly before he lowered his gaze back to his book once again and sighed.

"I thought I would treat you." Haytham replied with a frown on his face but Connor rolled his eyes.

"No, really, Dad. I mean I love camping and being out in the woods, but … you would have treated me too if you would have allowed me to go to that party." There must be another reason! Connor simply could not believe that there wasn’t. His father must have had another reason to go out of his way and spent a few days out here with his son. His father never did anything without a darn good reason.

"I…Well, I thought perhaps … perhaps some time together might do us good. You are my son, after all, plus I thought it would be nice having this little trip now." He would not say _now_ because they had met in October. He would not say _now_ because he had decided to take his son in by the end of October of last year. And he would clearly not say _now_ because he knew how hard this month must have been for Connor because his mother had died in October too. And clearly, he would not say _now_ because he and his mother had broken up in October.

October was a weird month for them both apparently.

"Maybe you're right…" Connor murmured as he put the comic book aside and snuggled deeper into his sleeping bag. "Liam stinks…"

"He does." Haytham replied dryly. "But he's your baby. Deal with it."

"Quite a big baby…"

"Yeah? Fits you then."

\-------------

Haytham found himself staring as the night progressed. Staring, staring, staring at his book, but not at the page he wanted to read, but at the simple white envelope, he once had put into this book so he would not lose it. He did not know exactly why he did so, maybe so Connor would not find the envelope by chance in the photo album and maybe read this letter directed at Haytham, though he honestly did not think Connor would have read this letter anyway. He was a boy who would never disrespect something like this or even read private correspondence.

He had of course, not at all forgotten about the letter, it simply… there had been no time for this. This last year had been turmoil, to say the least. It had been a time of utter chaos und uncertainty, things Haytham Kenway was not particularly used to. His son was sixteen now and he was with him and no one could take him from him ever again as it seemed. The court had decided that Connor was to stay with him and though of course, this was the only – the right decision they could have made, it still had been a long fight and a time of great uncertainty. Connor had been forced numerous times to go back to his village in the past months to connect with the rest of his native family and every time the boy had come back home to him more broken hearted than the previous times. It had been hard to watch. It had been hard to drive the kid to his village, to walk with him to the gates and leave him there for a whole weekend. Briefly, he thought this must be how it would have felt if Ziio and he would have shared custody. It would have been hard for him to give the kid back to his mother every week having only oh so very little time with his own offspring.

Well, maybe he was just growing soft with the years. That would be what Connor would say at least. It was hard to believe that it was already a year. Already one entire year and yet just one year. Just one year and he already were fighting with his son like every parent would. No matter how weird that might be, it made him feel warm and fuzzy and absolutely ridiculous. Yet his eyes fell back on the envelope again. Until now he had not looked inside and he felt weird even thinking about doing it now and yet curiosity took the better of him and lead him to not only open the envelope but to pull the paper right out of it before he could even begin to hesitate any longer. He stared in awe at Ziio's messy handwriting yet again as he did back then when he first opened the photo album. It was apparent that she had really tried to make her handwriting look decent in this letter, but Haytham could only smirk at that before he started reading.

_Dear Haytham,_

_we did not end this relationship on good terms and I want to apologize for that. I think, if you ever going to read this letter, you already know about Ratonhnhaké:ton, about your son, probably even met him and I am probably already dead. What a weird thing to write down or even think. But, oh well, I guess that is how the world functions, right? We cannot stop the tides from coming and going and I already know for a while now that I am sick, Haytham. I know, that I do not have much time left on this planet, but sadly my son - our son - does not know yet. My mother says it is unwise not to tell him. Hell, not even my stupid brother knows and if so, he would probably find a way to blame Ratonhnhaké:ton for my condition. I know my mother is right and I bet you would say the same, but I simply cannot bring myself to look him in the eyes and tell him that I am going to die. Your son is eight now and with every day he becomes a bit more like you, though I bet you would say he becomes more and more like his stubborn, bullheaded mother, but there are certain things about him that always reminds me of you. It's odd. He is like a mini-you every now and then and he is not even aware of it._

_I never told him who his father is, he does not even know what you look like. I must confess that I do feel guilty for not showing him, but I thought it would be better like this. I thought I would show him when he was old enough to really understand. I thought, when he turns eighteen, I will show him the photo I saved for him and tell him about his father so he could then decide on whether he wants to meet you or stay hidden. Maybe this was unfair to you both, I don’t know. However, now I cannot go back in time and change everything I have done. I can only accept the situation as it is now and try to apologize for not telling you._

_At this point, you are surely interested in learning why I never told you about your son. I did want to at one point. As I learned about my pregnancy, I wanted to tell you at first and then I didn’t. It was your friend Charles Lee who tried to persuade me to terminate the pregnancy, to get rid of our child out of jealousy. I never liked him, but I do have hope that by now you know all about this or at least understood that Charles Lee is not, was not and never will be your friend. I'd like to say that I was so scared of him that I didn’t want to tell you anymore but that is not the truth. I was never afraid of such a weak man. I was afraid of myself. When I learned about Ratonhnhaké:ton's - Connor's - existence I thought maybe this would be the one thing that would turn the tides on our relationship once more. By then it already had gotten pretty rocky and unstable and we both saw and felt it, but we both were too stubborn to accept that we were not meant to be together. I wanted to make it work, but then I realized that like this I would force you into something we both didn’t really want. It wouldn’t have been right to tell you about the baby because I knew you would have wanted to get married then and we both know this would not have ended well. I was afraid of my bad temper making everything worse and of your way of dealing with things. I knew you would stay loyal to me because you are a gentleman, but I always wanted more than this._

_I thought it would be better this way. I thought it would be best if we just split and if you would not know about Connor. After he was born I wanted to call you and tell you about him, but I didn’t. Then I wanted it again when Connor made his first steps or when he said his first words, but never I found the courage to do it and then I was afraid to get involved in a custody battle with you only so we would be forced to share the boy between us in the end. I didn’t want him to grow up torn like this, always commuting between home and your place. I was afraid he would at some point have enough of this and maybe leave. He never liked it in our village and a part of me wants to believe that this is his posh side coming through -_ **you** _coming through -, but I know it is because of the other villagers. They don’t treat him well and I as his mother cannot even protect him from it. All I can do is say to him that he should fight back when he gets attacked. That is not even nearly enough, I guess._

_You might ask yourself 'Why is she writing me that letter now? Why hasn’t she even send it to me until now?' and you are right to ask those questions surely. As I said earlier it was my plan to tell Connor about you when he turns eighteen, but as it appears now, I might not be around anymore by that time to tell him. He is eight now and such a sweet boy. I love him dearly, but he is very naïve and very soft. He has the most gentle soul I ever saw in another human being, which is clearly a trait he got from neither you nor me. He gets his heart broken about the littlest things. I can only hope I have a few more years left until I need to tell him about my sickness and about you. I may not be able to send you this letter before I die, but I do hope you will get it anyway somehow. I promise, I will tell him about you before I die, but until then, I want to keep him all to myself and enjoy the last days of my life with him. I know, that is selfish, but you can have him for the rest of your life after I am gone. I think I like this custody model better than ripping him apart every week._

_Promise me that you will take good care of our son. He has a tender soul, but he has also the tendency to want with his head through the wall no matter the cost. He tends to hold things back and keep them to himself for he does not want to bother anyone. He likes to do things on his own, to learn for his own. He is only eight, but he is already way too mature for his age, I believe. I think he must have an old soul in his body. Sometimes I look at him and I believe he already knows about everything, but he doesn’t say anything maybe to not hurt me. He always looks out for others, even for those who mistreat him, but he has his mother's bad temper for sure and he can be tedious too. Anyway, enough of this rambling. I never was one for long goodbyes, as you know, my dear Haytham. I added to this letter a list of the things he is allergic to and about the important things you need to know as soon as he is yours. I know, that sounds terrible, but this is his mother speaking. His envious mother._

_Yours truly,_

_Kaniehtí:io (Ziio)_

There really was a list enclosed in the envelope. While outside the world was turning against them in their little cave, with thunder growling from the skies and rain pouring down to wash away everything in the water's path, he stared at the letter and the list and did not know if he should laugh or be angry. He wanted to throw the pages into the still glowing reminders of the fire. He wanted to burn this ridiculous testimony of this woman he had once loved. His hand was clenching the papers and he was about to really destroy the letter, as he heard Connor sneeze on the other side of the cave, his face barely illuminated by the dying fire. It was cold. Only now he noticed how cold it really was and after Connor's sneeze, a cough followed shortly. With a sigh, he glanced back at the letter again and shoved it into his book before he put it back into his backpack. He did not yet know if he should ever show the letter to Connor when he was old enough. Somehow it did not seem right to him. Maybe at some point, he would be able to understand her reasoning behind all of this, but not now, not yet.

When Connor sneezed again he got up from his nest and grabbed his sleeping bag to slowly walk around the small fire. Liam was lying at Connor's back, but there was enough room for Haytham between the ring of stones around the fireplace and his son, as he slowly put down the sleeping bag next to Connor and crawled into its cocoon-like warmth again.

"What are you doing?" His son's drowsy sounding voice came from somewhere inside his sleeping back, before Haytham slowly wiggled closer and without hesitation wrapped his left arm around the boy's frame, lying on his side, just as his father liked to.

"You're cold. I am cold. It's cold. Shut up and sleep."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to upload this chapter on Connor's birthday last week originally, but I didn't want to upload two chapters at once and wanted a bit more time to reread the chapter a few times just in case I would have another idea to put in there. So now here it is, one week after Connor's birthday, BUT today is my birthday, so here is my present for you guys XD

"I don't think that this is a good idea, Gramps." Connor Kenway knew that his grandpa would not listen to him because his grandpa never did. He was too old to listen to anyone but the voices in his head, as he had once so cleverly remarked to shut up his own son during an argument.

"Don’t worry, Connor, everything will be just fine. It's your birthday!" His grandpa replied with a wide grin plastered onto his idiotic face.

"It is … And I wish to survive this day."

"You spent too much time with your father, boy. Be careful that you don’t become a square like him or I need to disinherit you in the end and this would be such a shame for all the money that would then go to him and your aunt. Really I would much rather leave this world knowing that my fortune will go to a young lad such as you, instead of my boring children." His grandfather laughed before he grabbed his grandson by his left shoulder and pulled him along towards the door of the pub. A _bar_ as Americans said, but his grandpa and his father had infected him greatly with their vocabulary in those past years. He noticed this quite a lot in the recent past especially, all those little things he would say that no _true American_ would normally say and he got laughed at for this quite often too actually - not that he would bloody care.

However, his grandpa was right. It was his birthday and it was not just _a_ birthday, it was _the_ birthday - apparently, judging by the things his gramps had to say about this day. He was turning twenty-one today. He was an adult now. But no matter that he apparently was now a fully functional adult, his grandpa had started this day by not only waking up his grandson quite early, but also by remembering fondly what a _cute tiny walnut_ he used to be (as if he had been there to see) only to leave him confused if his grandpa meant his baby pictures or the fifteen-year-old Connor his grandpa had met six years ago. Whatever he had meant, Connor still regretted the decision the fifteen-year-old Connor had made with showing his granddad his baby book. Mortified he had noticed, after he first visited his grandpa in London, that the entire house - his father's birthplace - was decorated with his baby pictures stolen, copied and enlarged out of his very private, very personal baby book. It was horrific. And it was only more horrific knowing that all of his grandpa's old friends would see them and need to hear him brag about him.

Since this day had started, Connor had not had one minute of solitude to himself to contemplate that he really was an adult now. He was not exactly antisocial, but he liked to have a bit of time alone every once in a while to come to his senses and find his inner peace! His grandpa though had made this impossible; so much in fact, that even his dad had tried to rescue him at one point. Of course, his grandpa would not have any of this. And now they were here, against his father's strict protest and Connor still did not quite understand why they were here anyway.

His grandpa dragged him along and right into the bar (pub - whatever!). It was loud and dark inside the pub. The lights were dimmed, smoke hung underneath the ceiling tinting the light bulbs of the various old-styled lamps yellow. The people were loud and rowdy and Connor already felt uncomfortable as his grandpa was dragging him forward towards a small table with two chairs in one corner of the room and then pressed down on his shoulders to get his grandson to sit, what Connor did only oh so reluctantly. He took great care not to look at anyone directly even though that might seem a bit strange or silly, but Connor had learned better to be safe than sorry, especially at places as noisy as this with so many already quite drunken people around him.

Under different circumstances he would have maybe been with Desmond now and even though Desmond would have tried to get him to come to his bar too to have his first drink, now that he was allowed to drink, maybe it would have been different than with his grandpa – not that it was bad with his grandpa! He loved being with his grandpa! They came to London for a little vacation during his break from university, he and his dad. To Connor - and everyone else - it had been unbelievable that his father would indeed take a few days off to spend with his son (and the rest of their family in Britain), but he did so quite regularly by now. It seemed after their first trip together, when Connor had been sixteen (which he still held in fond memory, even though he had spent the days afterwards in bed with a quite bad cold and fever), his father had finally understood that the company would not turn to shit the moment he would go on vacation and make Shay to his second in command had been clearly the right decision.

Weird how fast time would go sometimes. Yesterday, he had been just a fifteen-year-old boy standing nervously and anxiously in front of his father's door for the first time and now, within a blink, he was twenty-one and studying in Harvard. He had been able to choose between a few universities, but in the end, he had chosen Harvard so he could stay home or at least close to his dad and the company. First, he had not been sure what he wanted to study, but now he did what his father may have wanted, but never said. He would join the company when the time would be right, but he promised his granddad, that he first would work as a fisherman in their company after his studies, so he would understand the basis of their company. He was sure his father was impressed because of this decision, just as he had been impressed as Connor had said he wanted to volunteer during his breaks in the company, learning everything he needed to learn from scratch. But of course, his father had not said anything like this, but Connor did not mind. That was how his father was and he understood this by now.

"So I would say we start easy, boy. How about a beer?" His grandfather pulled him back into the reality after his thoughts had threatened to consume him fully with a wide grin on his face, showing off his perfect pearl-white teeth to the world.

"I don’t like beer." Connor frowned, but of course, he had never tasted it. His friends in school had always mocked him - especially Rebecca - that he would never _break the rules_ or do stuff he was not supposed to do, that he was being the _good kid entirely_ , but Connor had never mind them mocking him and had held his chin a bit higher instead, because he knew his friends didn’t really mean it - and maybe even because he knew that his friends would think even higher of him for not giving into this peer pressure. That was at least what Desmond once told him. _We need a good kid like you in our group to keep us in line from time to time!,_ he had said.

"You never tried." His grandpa grinned before he looked towards the bar and raised his hand, shooting up two fingers for the barman to see. "Oi! Barkeeper! Two pints!" Connor felt how his ears grew hot. He was by now acquainted to his grandpa's loud behaviorism, which was so much unlike him or his father, but in here nobody seemed to mind or even notice. Only the barman, who nodded and started to prepare their drinks like he was used to.

It took only seconds until the _pints_ were sat before them on the table, with the waitress vanishing into thin air immediately afterward without Connor being able to even look at her properly. Only a tail of blond hair was flashing by. Connor stared in awe at the large glass with the golden liquid and the thin white crest on top. He had seen beer before of course, even though his father was not much of a beer drinker anyway, but seeing it like this, _for him to drink_ , was something entirely different. His grandpa then grabbed his glass by the handle and raised it, waiting until Connor understood and quickly raised his own glass only so that his grandpa could slam his glass against Connor's. "Happy Birthday, Connor! To your health my dear boy!" Connor's beer shook so hard it swapped over the edge of his glass, but his grandpa was quick to take a deep swig of his beer and Connor hurried to mirror him. He didn’t want it, but he did not want it to be awkward too.

It was bitter and absolutely disgusting, that much was certain, so he made a face and his grandpa started laughing so loud a few heads turned towards them instantly. "It gets better the more you drink!" His grandpa laughed as he took another swipe from his beer glass only to put it down hard on the table again. "You don’t need to drink it if-"

But Connor already gulped down on the bitter liquid. Oh, if his grandpa wanted him to drink and proof to him how manly he could be, then he would drink! He was twenty-one now! He was an adult now! He was strong as a bear and he could take this!

\-----------

Haytham could not find sleep and it was beyond pathetic even to him. He could have gone out together with his father and son to have a beer in his father's favorite pub not that far off from his birth house at Queen Anne's Square, but he thought that this was something his father should experience alone with Connor, no matter how much he really disliked the prospect of his elderly father getting his only son drunk, because that was exactly what the old pirate was planning and he knew that! Connor on the other hand surely didn’t, because he still was oh so very naïve even now and even after six years the pup still thought that his grandpa would never do anything to _harm_ him even in the slightest possible way.

He was not at all happy with his father's plan on showing Connor what it meant to get drunk, but this was a kind of initiation rite his father insisted upon and Haytham too had experienced this very ritual when he had turned twenty-one oh so many years ago.

Twenty-one. His son was an adult now. Unbelievable. The last six years had gone so fast it made him dizzy even thinking about it. He had missed so much about Connor growing up and now he was a full-fledged adult ready to leave the nest finally. He was studying in Harvard and Haytham could not be prouder, even though he would have liked it if Connor would have followed in his footsteps and would have visited Oxford here in Britain instead. But he would not complain of course. He would never say it aloud whenever Connor would be near to hear him, but he was proud of his son. In fact, he could not be prouder in any way. Of course, though this needed to stay a secret he kept to himself until his dying day, for otherwise, his son's head would explode.

Haytham was sitting in his father's sitting room still, a book in his lap, his reading glasses on his nose. He could have gone to bed already of course, for his father was with Connor after all and surely the old man would have an eye on the boy and yet … he rather sat here with Liam by his side. He was not able to find sleep anyway, he knew that, so he could as well sit here and read until he would either fall asleep or until his son and father would come home – which hopefully would happen very soon. It was ridiculous for all of the sudden he felt like he was the grandfather in this situation, sitting at home with his hair slowly turning grey (as Connor had supplied very helpfully a few days ago, when the boy noticed the first few grey strands sneaking their way into Haytham's black hair), waiting for the kids to come home. A few years ago he would have never thought he would find himself in a situation such as this one and yet here he was now. A few years ago he would have sat in his office still, reading reports or typing away the night. A few years ago the word _vacation_ had only been something he knew from the dictionary. However, Shay was perfectly able to take care of everything while Haytham would not be there, that he had already proven in the past five years already. By now Shay Cormac was not only the biggest help he could have gotten but also the best friend he could have ever found and always a most welcome guest in his home.

Shay had helped them – him and his son – to go through everything. He had been the one to nudge Haytham in the right direction every time he would have strayed to get father and son closer together. By now Haytham prided himself on the fact that his relationship with Connor was quite good. Maybe not as close as other fathers with their sons, but pretty close indeed, even though Connor would still not tell him everything. He had not told him about this girl in his university for example. He had needed to hear from Shay that Connor was seeing a girl and every time he had tried to talk with Connor about said girl his son's ears had turned a bright red and he had always defended himself that this girl was just a friend. Well, at least it was not Rebecca Crane. Not that he would ever argue with his son over his choice when it came to love, but still … he was kinda glad.

It was already half past midnight, when his phone rang, lying beside him on the small table his father kept his ashtray on. He was not smoking himself, but his father often liked to emphasize that it was nice having an ashtray standing there in case his guests wanted to smoke and guests he always had a lot, unlike his son. Even at his age his father was still the life of the party and a bit Haytham was glad that his son was a bit more like him in this matter, though Haytham too liked a nice get together from time to time and he still invited his friends over (though inviting Hickey always meant for Thomas and Connor to get into unnecessary fights).

He picked up his phone without hesitation after he had read the name of his son on the display and he could not even start talking before his son wailed into his own phone. "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaad" It sounded helplessly from the other end of the line and Haytham immediately got up. "Daaaaaaaad I'm drunk…" Yes, well, that was to be expected when he would let his son go out with his grandfather, right? He even sounded utterly drunk and completely done with the situation. Under different circumstances it would have been funny to Haytham, yes maybe he would have even tried to test his son in any way, but not when the boy was out there somewhere in the big city that was London! "Please pick me up Daaaad…" At least the _Daaaaaaads_ were getting shorter, but Haytham was already at the door and jumping into his shoes and coat.

"Where are you?" It turned out, his son was right in front of the house. Connor sat in front of the small decorative iron gate that led to the street and thus to Queen Anne's Square. Cars were driving by, uncaring for the large figure sitting in front of that gate and Haytham was amazed by the fact that his son was apparently so drunk that he could not figure out how to open the gate.

"In front of the house…" His son hiccupped before Haytham ended the call and shoved his phone in the pocket of the coat he had already put on thinking he would need to wave down a cab to drive through the city to pick up his son from some obscure location. But there he sat, his bear of a son. Five years ago he had wondered when his son would have the much-longed growth spurt, but as he started growing finally, he would not stop anymore and now he was tall and broad but could not deal with the strength he possessed most of the time. His hair was now a lot longer, but he still refused to cut it and Haytham would not nag him about it anymore. If that was the only part of the traditions he wanted to keep up with from his tribe, then who was he to argue with him about it?

Haytham cast a glance over his shoulder. Liam stood in the doorway to the sitting room, staring at him, tilting his head and then retreated back into the warmth of the sitting room. Apparently, he was not worried for his personal Connor any longer. Haytham felt the impulse to just follow the wolf's example, but he guessed Connor was his son and thus his responsibility now. At least the boy did not seem to be an aggressive drunk, but rather a whiny drunk – which he would have never expected at all. He always thought Connor would either be like his grandfather and pick up fights with strangers (as he always did with Hickey) or simply fall asleep. When Haytham walked down the pebble stone path towards the gates he still heard his son's slurring voice, but he was not talking any longer, the poor thing was singing and Haytham - sadly - knew the song well. " _Leave her, Johnny, leave her -hic- Oh leave her, Johnny leave her! For the voyage is done and the winds don’t blow and it's time for us to leave her…_ " Apparently, the big idiot had not noticed that his father had not only ended the call (for he was still holding the phone to his ear) but that his father was right behind him already. Maybe he had even forgotten that he had indeed called him, for Haytham had never heard Connor sing before. It was quite cute, to be perfectly honest, for Connor still possessed this childlike attitude – at least right now – which was so contrary to his appearance. When Haytham reached the gate he waited a moment, while Connor was still singing that damned shanty with a few girls snickering on the other side of the street, but when he finally found mercy in him and opened the gate with a shrill and loud creak, Connor flinched violently and Haytham did not even feel sorry.

"Dad!" The boy exclaimed and dropped his phone, only to be unable to pick it up afterward again with his clumsy large fingers. He almost felt sorry for his brute of a son. Almost. For a moment the boy's drowsy brown eyes lit up, as he tried to get up, forgot what he wanted to do and then found the necklace he was wearing. Haytham was sure he had not worn this when he had left the house. "Dad look!" The boy yelped and tucked on the ugly thing he was suddenly wearing around his neck. "Look what grandpa gave me! He said -hic- those are from a shark!" Of course, his father gave his son a necklace with something like this on it, something to match his own shark teeth necklace, only with the exception that those were no shark teeth, but claws from a bear or something (and hopefully not genuine too). "I can't get up…" He hiccupped, again forgetting what he wanted to say.

Out here the boy was slurring his words even worse than he did over the phone and Haytham had only a sigh for him as an answer, before he picked up the boy's phone, shoved it into his own coat pocket and then tried to pick up the boy. It didn’t work. He was not able to drag Connor to his feet – or well, he was, but Connor was not able to stand, his knees week like pudding apparently.

"Where is your grandfather?" Haytham sighed, as he was now crouching down beside the boy whose legs were apparently not in the right mood to cooperate any longer, while his clumsy fingers were still tugging at the necklace absent minded.

"Dunno…" The boy huffed as he scrambled to climb on his father's back. It was a weird tangle of limbs and annoyed curses from Haytham before he finally managed to pick up the boy on his back. Connor was incredible heavy by now. Nothing compared to the sweet kid he had once taken into his home because his big, big fatherly heart had commanded him to do so. Haytham was of course not the youngest person on earth anymore too. He would turn fifty in less than two years. If anyone should carry anyone else then it should be his tedious son carrying _him_! But Haytham only gritted his teeth and tried to march forward and back to the house while Connor was not even trying to hold onto his father in any way. He just hung there, his head lolling from one side to the other, only to be stopped by Haytham's neck, his long arms draped decoratively over Haytham's chest and all in all Connor looked like he was dead, so Haytham tried to hurry up before someone would call the cops on him.

"I hope you already regret your decision of going out with your grandpa already at least." Haytham grunted as he managed to maneuver through the front door. He felt his legs wobble under the combined weight of his son and himself already, so he tried to maneuver towards the staircase to put down his annoying big baby, but he stumbled over a wrinkle in the rug that was spread out between staircase and door and fell right onto the stairs. Connor groaned, but at least had the decency to roll down from his father and onto the stairs himself only to slump down again a bit.

"Ouch…" He made. "It was not my faaault…" He then whined while Haytham tried to untangle their limbs and find out if his body parts were still in their right spots and pointing into the right directions. Liam woofed helpfully from the door to the sitting room, sitting there and watching the scene curiously, probably annoyed by the ruckus they made.

"I told you, you shouldn’t go with your grandpa. He is a bad influence!" Haytham, however, replied instantly. "I told you he would try to get you drunk. That’s what he did to me as well, as I turned twenty-one. So I hoped you’ve learned your lesson now!"

"I feel sick…"

Six years ago Haytham would not have even fathomed that he would find himself in a situation such as this one, kneeling beside a toilet, beside his own 6.2 foot tall son throwing up after getting violently drunk with his grandfather – who, for the record, was still not here and would very probably not come home before morning either. Poor Connor's body was convulsing in pain and Haytham could do nothing but hold his long hair out of the way (thinking to himself that his son desperately needed a haircut) and rubbing his back as best he could to at least try and ease away the pain. Belittling his son now would not help at all because Connor probably already regretted having gone with his grandpa and after all, he knew how persistent his old father was. He was not worried about the old man, though. He was a bit angry that he had let Connor wander off by himself. He could have gotten hurt! He could have gotten hit by a car! He could have gotten himself in trouble! Oh, Haytham had always known that his father was a very irresponsible person, of course, but he would have never thought that he would be _that_ irresponsible especially when it would concern the safety of his grandchild!

Well, he could try to pry answers from Connor tomorrow he guessed, as he then helped Connor to clean up his face and placed a cold cloth on his neck. Connor had not often been sick since he was with Haytham, but the few times he had been, it had been quite bad. His son obviously knew only two extremes even when it came to being sick or ill in anyway shape or extend. "Come on, I'll help you get in your room." Haytham finally sighed as he helped his son up who now had more likeness to a washcloth at the moment, his skin pale from vomiting and his limbs sluggish.

It was not at all easy to maneuver the boy into his room after this, but when he finally managed to, Connor slumped down on his bed exhausted and face first into his pillow. He was obviously not in the condition to get comfortable or even undress to get into bed for sure. Well, what a luck the boy had to have a father, Haytham guessed as ha began to free the boy from his shoes first. It turned out to be quite difficult to unbuckle Connor's belt, though, after all, the kid was lying on his front, but after he managed to, it was only a matter of seconds until Haytham finally succeeded in freeing him from his pants too. Surely Connor would not remember a thing by tomorrow and maybe that was for the better. After he had rolled Connor onto his side and draped the blanket over his already sleeping form Haytham wanted to turn and retreat to his own room to sleep, while Liam slowly crept into the room (still having the habit of sleeping in Connor's bed), but then he paused again.

He could not leave him alone like this, could he now? What if the boy would throw up again and maybe suffocate on his own vomit? Maybe that was a bit extreme to worry about, but then Haytham sighed and sat down heavily on the big armchair his father had put inside the room at one point. It couldn’t be helped. He would not be able to find rest thinking about Connor and if he was alright.

Well, he guessed as he closed his eyes, that was what it meant to be a father – even if his child was already an adult.

\---------

When Liam finally walked up the stairs to go to bed, he found his pup already fast asleep in his bed with the old wolf sitting by his side to watch over him. He was asleep, though. The old wolf was not a very good watchdog, Liam had already understood this very early on after he started living with his pup. But since it was so important to always watch over the pup, he jumped on the bed soon after he had entered the room and shortly sniffed Haytham's hand to make sure that it really was Haytham and no secret intruder - one could never be too careful! A little sniff at Connor's face provided him with enough evidence that this poor thing lying on the bed sure was his pup too, before Liam was finally laying himself to sleep for this night too, at ease now that he could pin him in place.


End file.
